


always halfway to go

by HerringTable



Category: Treasure Island - Lavery
Genre: Background Character Death, Based off the National Theatre production, Blood, Blood and Injury, Description of Injuries, Female Doctor Livesey, Female Jim Hawkins, Gaslighting, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Manipulative Behaviour, Manipulative Relationship, National Theatre - Freeform, Period-Typical Sexism, Pirates, Possessive Behavior, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 61,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerringTable/pseuds/HerringTable
Summary: The letters from Jim Hawkins suddenly stop and that's when Livesey starts to worry.Sequel to 'one on shore.'
Comments: 117
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the National Theatre’s 2015 streamed production, where ‘Jim’ was played by Patsy Ferran and 'Livesey' by Alexandra Maher.
> 
> Please note that I am not an expert, and thus am playing pretty fast and loose with historical accuracy. I say if it's good enough for the National Theatre of Great Britain, then it's good enough for me.
> 
> This story takes place just under a year since the events of chapter three of 'one on shore', and five years since the events of the play. If you haven't read 'one on shore' yet, I would advise doing so, otherwise there will be elements of this story that might not make sense. Or do what you want, idk.

The sudden presence of the merchant vessel anchored just off the bay has drawn some interest, but over the last few years the citizens of Black Cove have learnt that, by and large, it’s more sensible to ignore the apparent increase in outsiders coming through the town. _It don’t cost a penny to mind your own business_ has become something of an unofficial motto, so The Cormorant sits just off the coast, waiting for its latest recruit, with minimal interference. It’s a motto that keeps you alive.

There’s a dearth of good navigators around at the moment, so when Captain Hill, staying at the inn on his way to Bristol a week earlier, learned that Jim could read maps and plot courses he practically hired her on the spot.

“We’ll sail back round and pick you up on’t way!” He’d promised with a laugh, raising a toast to his discovery. In instances like this, it is a lot easier to let a man think he’s done something terribly clever. Especially when he’s walking right into giving you what you want.

This will be Jim’s fourth expedition in half as many years, born off the back of asking around and making herself useful. After her grandmother passed away, the siren call of the tide had become too irresistible to ignore any longer. 

There’s always this leap of excitement in her stomach everytime she wakes up on the morning of her departure, and this one is no different, aided by the perfect conditions and the breakfast she quickly shovels down between gabbling last minute instructions to Sarah and Tom. Everything is just going _well,_ even if Tom’s not cooperating, and he drags his feet even more when she calls him aside for further instruction - one final, very important task that must be carried out while she’s at sea. His big sister Sarah is too busy now with the day to day running of the inn while Jim’s away, to take on the job of managing her correspondence. Well, one particular line of correspondence.

She pulls a small stack of letters from the pocket of her long coat, bought with the earnings from her first voyage, sick and tired of shivering on deck in threadbare jackets. She adores it, even if Ben Gunn had flinched the first time she walked back through the door wearing it.

 _You know who you look like_ , he’d said. She can’t quite shake that memory every time she puts it on, no matter how much she’d like to. Nothing she has is really quite wholly hers, claimed as her own - there’s always a memory hanging around it, like the way the bitter smell of smoke clings to hair and clothes after a great fire.

She swallows her last mouthful of bacon and beckons to the lad perched on the counter, grumpily picking at his nails. “Tom. C’mere.” 

Motivated by a well-aimed flick of the dishcloth from Sarah, Tom reluctantly hops down and trudges over, eyeing the letters on the table with deep mistrust.

Jim turns and hands the missives to him one by one, reeling off the instructions, “You send this one next week, this one in six weeks, this one in ten weeks. In that order, that’s important, do you understand?”

Tom takes them nervously, like they might explode in his grasp, “An’ then what?” He asks, worrying at the corner of one.

She tugs the lapels of her coat straight as she clambers to her feet, “Then I’ll be back by the time the next one’s due, as usual. I’ll write it on my way back, it’ll be fine. And don’t pick at them like that.”

Tom’s fingers freeze guiltily, “Don’t like it.” He mutters. “Feels bad. Lyin’.” He frowns at Jim, “You know she’s going to work it out one day - she’s going to know something’s wrong. Then I’m gonna be the one that gets in trouble.”

It _is_ lying, and Jim does feel a little bit guilty about lying to Doctor Livesey like this after all the woman’s done for her, but the thing is she’s just got really, really good at writing letters _just_ vague enough to get away with doing them all in advance. She can make stuff up, but it’s stuff that’s very likely - big storms and repairs and general town goings-on, and half of it turns out to be nearly true anyway. When Squire came back from Bath with that new wife of his, Jim had just enough time to snatch one of her letters up and dash off a final line to give it some credibility. That was just before she’d gone off to Amsterdam and she had left feeling incredibly pleased with herself.

“No she won’t. I’ve been doing this for ages, and she’s never said anything.” She shrugs “I don’t think Doctor particularly cares much anymore what happens here.”

It’s a bit childish, she will admit, tricking the doctor into thinking she’s stayed safe on land all this time - but it’s easier, in its way. She gets enough sermons and lectures and morals as it is in her letters back, and she hasn’t got the energy to take on a whole new level of disapproval. She can just imagine what Doctor Livesey would say too - _what were you thinking, how could you take such risks, what would your grandmother say?_

No - this is better. This way it’s like Jim’s never left at all. Squire Trelawney knows, of course - he’s too nearby to not know, but he gave up on trying to make her stay put long ago.

Tom gives a great sigh of disapproval that’s far older than his sixteen years. “Alright, but when she comes back down here and asks where you are, I ain’t covering for you.”

“You won’t need to.” She hitches her pack over her shoulder, “I’ll be back long before she’d ever realise I was gone. Promise. We’ve done it before and we’re going to keep it this way.”

One of the mates (young and blond, with a fair face and broad shoulders and Sarah has taken a _great_ degree of interest in him) has rowed out from The Cormorant to collect her and been rewarded with a hunk of bread and cup of ale. Jim turns to him now; “Ready to go?”

He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, “Aye, away we go.”

At the last moment, Jim presses another list into Tom’s hand. “Here are the things Sarah needs to get in - there’s money enough in the trunk in my room, and she’s got the key, the carpenter’s coming on Tuesday to fix the door, and if Bob Scratchley tries to come in again, remind him he’s still barred, no matter how much he swears he’s changed, alright?”

Sarah comes dashing out from behind the bar with a parcel of bread and cheese for her. “Good luck!”

“Hawkins!” The handsome young mate hails her from the doorway, “You coming or not?”

“Coming.” She looks back at Tom intently. “One week, six weeks, ten weeks, alright?”

“Alright, alright, got it!” Tom protests, looking embarrassed.

“Good. Keep an eye on that horizon.”

Tom and Sarah’s youngest sister, little Ana, has found a stick and is hopping on and off the stone doorstep, sweeping it in broad arches, sword-fighting some imaginary foe. Jim ruffles her hair on the way out. “Be good.”

“No.” Ana grunts in reply, still parrying with her stick.

“That’s the spirit.” She waves to the siblings, turns on her heel and is out the door without a backward glance, her heart racing in her chest and the tang of the sea air on her tongue.

* * *

“Are you alright?”

Doctor Livesey looks up with a jerk, dragged from her thoughts and slammed back into reality and Edinburgh and her old friend's house. From where he’s sat across the dinner table from her, James Walker is studying her with an amused look on his face.

She clears her throat and sits up, steadying herself and shaking off the fog of her reverie. “Fine. I’m fine.”

Walker smirks from behind his drink, “It’s just I’ve been talking to you, actually more like talking _at_ you, for a good five minutes now and I’ve just realised that none of it is going in.”

“Now, that’s not true-” She declares.

“Very well, what was I talking about then.”

She freezes, mouth agape, but silent. Oh, damnation. “Now that’s not fair.”

He stares back at her, trying not to laugh and she suddenly wishes for some back up, but Walker’s wife Agnes is out of the room. The Walker’s young son William has been in a particular mood this evening and all threats to get him to go to bed have fallen on deaf ears, bar the final ultimate one - _I shall fetch your mother._

Walker taps on the tabletop. “Come on. What’s going on? This isn’t about what that fool Claybrook said, is it?”

“What, that delightful sentiment about how I’d be much more useful tending to a husband and having babies?” She scoffs. “He’s hardly the first to say such a thing, and if he wanted to offend me he should have tried harder. No, I don’t care about that.” Livesey fiddles with her knife, affecting an air of nonchalance. “I was just… considering perhaps going back to Black Cove. Only for a couple of weeks,” She adds quickly, “Visit my friends. See how the place has changed. Take the sea air. I think it would do me good.”

Walker sits back in his chair, equally sangfroid, “Well, by all means.” He replies, “Marvellous. Very respectable. Now...” His gaze snaps back up, “do you want to tell me why you’re really going, or shall we keep up this ridiculous charade? You forget,” he adds, seeing her affronted expression, “I’ve known you for far too long. I know only too well when you’re hiding something, you always try to act far too calm.”

“I-” She sighs and concedes defeat. The knife clatters back onto the table. “ “It’s Jim - _Jemima_ Hawkins.”

“Your… young friend, from the inn?”

She nods. “Usually I have a letter from her every few weeks - I have done ever since I first arrived here, I like to know that all’s well with her.” She pauses, “It’s now been two months since her last. I’m probably worrying over nothing, but…”

“But you are worried.” Walker concludes with a frown. After a moment’s pause, he adds; “Did you ever tell her what happened here with Silver?”

No, she didn’t. “I was too afraid of raising her hopes only to dash them again. I did some calculations, and if he ever did get there, he’d have arrived three weeks ago.” She’s done them over and over in her head, taking into account the weather, the terrain, distractions and detours, but Walker doesn’t need to know that part, doesn’t need to know that she’s run each scenario in her head over and over as she walks through the city, as she treats a fever, as she readies for bed, “Now I’m worried that he made it there and things… well perhaps he didn’t agree with what he found.”

“You said he claimed he cared for her - do you think he’d be capable of...” Walker trails off and looks away. He usually finds her talk of pirates entertaining, but now there’s a sense of deep discomfort in the room.

Livesey keeps her eyes fixed on the table. “When it comes to Long John Silver I think he’s capable of anything.”

Walker nods slowly, and after a moment of thought says; “Then I think you should go. Tomorrow, if you can. I can handle things here and make your excuses until you return.”  
  
She starts at this, “Tomorrow? Will you really?”

“Of course.” He smiles fondly at her, “We’ve done very well here, Livesey. And in all this time you’ve never asked anything of me, so I think this is overdue.”

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur, and she reaches London so late that there’s no point trying to find a room for the handful of hours before her next coach leaves. She can wait it out, she thinks, with something warm to eat and somewhere to sit that’s not jerking around every corner and aiming for every bump in the road like it’s driven by a madman.

“The Bell and Crown.” The coachman advises, “Over that way. The company is less than savoury, but the drink is good and they’ll leave you be.”

The rain is coming down in steady, unrelenting sheets, adding more gloom to the already gathering dark, so she hurries across the street to the tavern, trying not to look at the wretched creatures staggering past in various states of raggedness and starvation. It has been years since she last glimpsed London - it hasn’t improved.

She shoves her shoulder full against the heavy wooden door. As it gives way, bright light spills out into the muddy street, and she’s enveloped in a thick warmth as she stumbles inside, rainwater dripping from her sleeves.

The place is packed, the air filled with the ongoing rumble of conversation, pierced every so often with a squawk of laughter and yelled interjection. Travellers and locals alike fill the place. A young woman clutching a large jug weaves between tables and customers with a level of dexterity that comes with a lot of experience, and a small boy dashes between tables collecting dirty crockery, piled high in his arms.

Soon she’s installed in a sheltered corner with a dish of stew thick enough to stand a spoon in and a great hunk of bread. The serving girl clunks down a cup of beer beside Livesey’s plate with little care and wanders off again without a word. The girl, with her long skirts and hair carefully arranged, is a million miles from Livesey’s memory of Jim, but her mere presence is a reminder of the purpose of this journey.

Livesey sighs and pulls the plate towards her. With any luck, she should be in Black Cove within the week and then - well, she’ll know for sure. She has to see it for herself, to reassure her own anxieties.

“Fool.” She mutters to herself, stabbing viciously at a lump of potato. “You’ll probably walk through the door and she’ll be sitting there safe and well.” _With his head mounted above her fireplace,_ her mind adds without hesitation, and she blinks hard, surprised at her own morbid thoughts. Where had _that_ come from?

There will be difficult conversations to have - why she hasn’t returned before now, and even more so, why hadn’t she written to tell Jim that Silver was alive. It’s the price she’ll have to pay for her own reassurance, to banish her own admission that _I think he’s capable of anything._

She slumps back, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably inside her sodden clothing, thankful for the crowded nature of the place and the little heed they pay her. This is the sort of place where someone can be invisible if they wish.

Or not, as the case may be, she thinks, looking around. As the serving girl moves aside, Livesey spies a crowd gathered around a figure sat across the room, a man, some aspiring raconteur beside the fire. He’s obviously well-known around here as the serving girl pauses near his table, biting her lip as she lingers as long as she dares, and several patrons gather towards him in a manner suggesting camaraderie - or more like wishing to be counted as friends with such a person.

He’s telling some story, gesturing widely, pulling knowing, ‘if you can believe it’ expressions and drops his voice for some obviously ribald aside that sends all assembled into raucous laughter. One of the man’s company, a short fellow, nudges him on the shoulder and Livesey can see him say, _“‘Ere, ‘ere, tell ‘em that part where…”_

With a nod and a barking laugh, the man obliges, raising his voice to hush the others. But he’s relaxed, pipe in one hand, leaning back in his chair, feet up. One leg rests upon the table, a new wooden one artfully crossed over it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this how he did it, she wonders. 
> 
> It’s a chilling notion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! A quick note, from here on in, all trigger warnings will be put in the tags, which I will update throughout the posting of this fic.

Silver doesn’t spot her - too wrapped up in his own popularity, she thinks, scathingly. Can it really be him? The odds on him being here, now, at the same time as her are staggering. If it  _ is _ him, he’s changed again in the months since their last altercation. His hair is cropped short and his beard trimmed too, perhaps in an attempt to elude recognition. His lanky frame is shrouded in an unfamiliar coat that doesn’t quite fit him well enough to convince her he paid honest money for it. But his mannerisms haven’t changed - he still tilts his head in that same way in telling a story, still gestures in that same, slightly accusatory fashion. It’s him alright, and suddenly her appetite deserts her.

He points demonstratively at some drunken onlooker for them to laugh at, and while they’re distracted she sees his hand dip into a nearby pocket and extract something - with a flick of his hand, it’s gone. He is fascinating to watch - winning and gregarious when the attention’s on him, but the minute everyone looks away, the act falls from his face, a coldness floods back into his eyes, his mouth set in a hard line of barely contained fury. Then it vanishes as soon as anyone looks back at him, replaced with good humour and openness. 

Is this how he did it, she wonders. Charmed his way into Trelawney’s crew? It’s a chilling notion.

She shakes her head, forces down the rest of her supper as quickly as she can and heads back out into the cold, damp night. The rain has eased to a feeble drizzle by this point, and she finds a more sheltered side street in which to wait, pacing and stamping her chilled feet to keep some feeling in them. Her anger keeps her warm (as it so often has before), burning bitter in her throat as the evening ticks on. 

Eventually the tavern begins to empty, the patrons stumbling out into the night and cursing as they kick up the mud with their unsteady, drunken gait. He’s one of the last to leave, conversing with one of his listeners from earlier in a low voice. Livesey presses herself to the shadows and watches as they swagger out into the street.

“Tomorrow night then?” She finally hears him say. He’s now so close she could take two steps and be near enough to strike him.

“Oh, aye.” His accomplice gives a hacking laugh, “Same old place, same old story. Hell - where else are you gonna go, ya wastrel?”

Silver laughs, cold and humourless. “I’m a wastrel?” It’s a warning.

The man giggles drunkenly, missing it, “Aye, aye, you good for nothing sack of - agh!”

It’s fast, but Silver has grabbed the man by the shoulder, twisted him into helplessness and is now pressing a knife to the exposed skin of his neck. “Might I remind you what a wastrel can do?” He hisses.

Livesey clasps a hand to her mouth to stop herself from gasping - it looks like he’ll slit the man’s throat - but then Silver laughs again, that forced, too loud laugh and releases him, throwing up his arms like it was all a jest.

The man stumbles back, clutching at his collar, all traces of mirth gone.

“Tomorrow.” Silver says, low and dangerous. The knife disappears.

The other man nods and stumbles off in a half run. Livesey sees Silver turn back to where the serving girl is now watching him from the doorway. In an instant he is charm personified once more, a sheepish half-smile as he pivots on his remaining leg. “G’night Meg.”

Meg smiles and looks at her feet. “‘Night Mr Hawkins.”

Mr _ Hawkins! _ Livesey almost laughs out loud. The nerve of him - to even dare to use that name! Then she shivers. What’s he done to believe he can take that name?

He winks at the girl, who flushes bright red and Livesey thinks  _ I’m going to kill him. _

Silver waits until Meg’s finally closed the door before he sets off down a rat run of side streets and alleys, Livesey in hot pursuit. She keeps to the shadows, keeping as near to him as she dares, still not quite sure how to approach this - then winces as her foot makes an audible  _ squelch _ in an unseen pile of mud and God knows what else.

He hears. He stops walking and looks back. “Who’s there?” 

She presses herself further against into a doorway and prays as his eyes flick from one side of the road to the other.

“‘Ello?” It’s less certain, and after a few seconds more, he seems to shrug it off, taking a turn down a narrower lane. 

Livesey’s pistol is tucked inside her coat, so she draws it out, ready. She makes to follow, before a sudden yell makes her flinch back in alarm.

“Oi, Hawkins!”

She stays hidden as two men rush past her to catch up with Silver. She recognises the slighter of the two as the man Silver earlier relieved of the contents of his pocket, and he’s accompanied by a taller, heavier thing, barrel chested, with a mess of curly brown hair spilling from his crown.

The robbed man runs up and shoves Silver in the chest, red faced and snarling, “Where is it, Hawkins?” It jars so, to hear that name used in relation to him.

Silver quickly regains his balance, “Jones! Mate, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She watches as his eyes dart around the surrounding streets, weighing up an escape route. Surely he cannot run, not in his state, and never fast enough to outrun these two. He looks at the taller arrival and remains calm, that strange, unnerving ability he possesses, “I don’t know you, do I?”

“This is Mr Rees.” Jones’ anger seems to abate a little as he chuckles, “He’s very persuasive.”

With that, Rees the giant grabs Silver by the shoulders and pushes him up to the wall.

Silver tries to laugh, but his voice is strained, “What’s all this about then?”

Jones leans against the wall next to him, arms folded, “When I walked into the Crown this evening, I had a little something in my pocket. A personal possession, if you will. When I left, it was gone.”

“Remarkable world we live in.” Silver replies, “Where possessions can magically disappear just like that.”

Jones scowls, “Remarkable,” He echoes mockingly, “Until I remembered that I sat at your elbow all night listening to your idiotic fantasies. God, you talk some crap. Anyway, my point is, you’ve got something that belongs to me.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Silver says, in a tone that suggests the very opposite.

Rees growls menacingly, “Shall I persuade him, Jonesey?”

Then something happens all at once - there’s a flash in the darkness as Silver pulls out a knife from his coat, but the two are quicker, or perhaps just expecting this, and Jones knocks it from his hand. It spins off into the darkness, landing blade down into the dirt, and in the next second, Rees has knotted his great fists in Silver’s collar and has hoisted him off the ground.

Silver raises his voice and now an edge of something wilder creeps in, “Now, now mates, I’m sure we can come to some agreement.” His feet are hanging a good five inches from the floor.

Jones nods to Rees, taking a step back, “Take him apart.”

Without sparing another second to think about it, Livesey steps out of the shadows, resting the barrel of her pistol lightly against Rees’ temple. “Put him down!”

For a moment all three are stunned into silence by her sudden appearance, but it’s the thuggish Rees who gets his voice back first; “What?”

This is nothing, she wills herself, her nerve. This man is no worse than any of the louts who frequented the Admiral. “You heard me. Put him down.”

Jones pulls a face as he looks her up and down, “Who are you love, his wife?”

“No.” Silver says immediately from his spot in mid-air, “No, she is definitely  _ not _ my wife.” He stares at her, “What the Hell are you doing here?”

“Making a mistake, most likely.” She says with a huff, before looking back at the two aggressors; “Now - if you’d like to put him back down and walk away, then we can all come away from this misunderstanding in good health.”

“Walk away?!” Jones laughs, “Stay out of this, you nosey cow.”

“Ooh, I really wouldn’t…” Silver mutters, a grin tugging at his lips.

Livesey grits her teeth and ignores him, “Believe me gentlemen, there is nothing I’d like more than to see this world rid of a villain such as this. However, this man has not yet outlived his usefulness.” She’ll be damned if she’s about to let the truth die with him.

“He’s a stinking thief.” Jones snarls, “And nobody steals from me and gets away with it!”

And then there’s a scream.

She’s been distraction enough for Silver to pull another blade from his sleeve, unseen, which he now swipes across Rees’ face. The man yells in alarm and pain, and drops Silver to the ground, where he staggers, but just keeps his footing. He straightens up immediately, blade ready to strike again, “They  _ never  _ think to check for another one, what is wrong with these people?” He glances at her, “Look out!”

Livesey looks around in time to see Jones lunging towards her, but she has time enough to bring her fist around hard into his cheek. Fending for yourself for most of your life, you soon learn how to throw a proper punch. Jones sprawls to the ground in a most satisfactory way and she manages to get a swift kick in his ribs. She turns and finds herself face to face with Silver, grinning smugly.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon Doctor Livesey.” The second knife twirls in his fingers.

She glares at him, “I could say the same to you, Silver - or whatever name you’re going by these days. Now duck.”

He drops and she reaches over his head to bring the butt of her pistol down hard on the bridge of the advancing Rees’ nose. He cries out in pain and wheels back again, blood blossoming from his nostrils.

She and Silver switch places and the scuffle continues, the element of surprise on their side. A woman and a one legged man against these brutes? The story will never get out. But it needs to end fast. She dodges the men, grabs her pistol, primes it and puts herself back between them, training her aim on Jones. The gun is now mere inches from the man’s nose as he straightens up, winded. 

He looks at it, then her, sizing her up, “You wouldn’t...”

“She would.” Silver offers from behind her. “Believe me.”

Jones stares at the pistol for another second, weighing the risk and dabbing at his split lip with his cuff. He shakes his head, “It’s not worth it. Come on!” Grabbing Rees by the arm, the two retreat, Jones snarling back over his shoulder; “We’ll get you, Hawkins! And your little guard dog won’t be there next time!”

“What a couple of charmers, eh?” Silver jokes, with just enough time to catch his breath before Livesey’s shoved him against the nearest wall and pressed her pistol to his jaw. “Well, well, out of the frying pan!” He cackles mockingly at her fury.

She grits her teeth and presses harder, “Where is Jim?”

Silver sighs in an exaggerated way, suggesting that threats to his life are an everyday occurrence, “You know what, I was hoping that you could tell me.”

She frowns. “What?”

He gestures to the gun at his jaw, “Do you mind?”

She relents (if reluctantly) and he shoves her away like she’s no greater threat than a fly. 

“I don’t know where she is.” He says, rubbing his chin, “I dunno how you managed to warn her so fast, but she was good and gone by the time I got to that inn of hers.”

She steps back, her adrenaline quickly replaced with bewilderment, “Gone where?”

He shrugs, flinging his arms out and up in caricature.

“And I didn’t warn her-” She’s cut off by a shout, not far away.

“Come on.” Silver says, his expression suddenly grave, “We should get out of the street - Jones will be back with more of his friends.” He picks up his dropped blade and wipes it clean on his breeches. “When did you get here? This way.”

“Three hours ago.” She says, following him as he heads off down another alley, cramped and streaming with filth.

“And you’ve already made yourself an enemy!” He chuckles coldly, “You don’t do things by halves, do you Doctor?”

She grimaces, “I’d prefer not having to do things by any degree. Where are we going?”

“Rooms.” He halts suddenly at an arch and looks up and down the next street.

She skids a little, trying to stop in time. “You have rooms?”

“There are some rooms. I use them.” Seemingly satisfied, he beckons her on, “Come on.”

“With express permission?” She feels a little foolish, trotting along at his heels like this, but the evening has already taken multiple unexpected turns and following him gives her a minute to try and process everything that has happened.

“You do ask me a lot of questions.” He rolls his eyes, “They’re vacant. I utilise them. It makes sense in the grand scheme of things.”

They walk on in silence for a few minutes before she remembers something. “‘Hawkins’, then?”

“First name that came to mind.” He grunts, walking faster.

_ Liar, _ she thinks, and hurries to keep up. Soon they come to a stop outside a solid wooden door. The windows that flank it are dark and backed by thick curtains. A thin layer of dust can be seen on the interior sill.

“Keep an eye out.” He orders, taking a bent length of metal from his pocket and feeding it into the door’s lock.

So much for express permission, though after all this time she can hardly bring herself to be surprised. She turns her back and looks up and down the deserted street. It’s one of the better ones, near the docks, and usually populated by those who have done well by trade. After a few seconds there’s a click, and a satisfied ‘ha’ from Silver as he effortlessly opens the door and vanishes inside.

Should she follow? She pauses at the threshold. It’s as dark inside as it is out, Silver having disappeared up a narrow flight of stairs. If he should somehow escape now she’ll be kicking herself all the way to Black Cove. And yet, her experience and her caution still holds her back.

_ Nobody knows where I am. _

“You coming, Doctor?”

The call shakes her into action, and taking a breath, she steps inside, pushing the door closed behind her. She has her pistol still. If he tries anything, she won’t hesitate this time.

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, and she notices a weak light coming from the top of the stairs and battling against the encroaching shadows. She follows it and emerges into one of the rooms, now illuminated by a stuttering lamp. Looking around she can just make out a portrait of a stocky looking gentleman with a weak chin and a vast wig on the opposite wall. She’d put money on him being the usual resident of this place.

“Away in Antigua.” Silver says, seeing her looking at it. “Now sit down.”

Livesey sits - for now. She drops into one of the chairs surrounding the heavy wood table that takes up most of this room, and waits.

“We’ll stay until dawn.” Silver continues, easing off his now mud-smeared coat and slinging it across another chair, “Jones is a coward, he won’t come at me in daylight. Now, to answer your original question, asked very rudely might I add, I don’t know where our young mutual friend is. So if  _ you _ didn’t warn her I was on my way, then who did?” He heads for the connecting door without waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know.” She calls after him.

“See, I don’t like being mucked about,” He calls from the next room. There’s noise - various knocks and scrapes of activity; “Takes me long enough to get from one end of this godforsaken island to the other, so I was very seriously considering whether or not I wanted to bother going all the way back up to ask you again, not so politely this time - how was my cabin girl.” He comes back in and sets a tumbler down in front of her containing a dark, crimson liquid. He has not poured one for himself.

She wonders what’s in it. Wonders if she knows the antidote.

He leans on the table and looks right at her. The low light casts the shadows on his face into deeper contrast, “You told me she was good an’ well. Was that a lie?”

She looks up at him with a hard stare, “No.” She replies firmly. “I thought what I said was true. I’d had letters from her, she sent me all her news and I believed that she was well. And then her letters stopped.”

He recoils a little, sensing the accusing tone in her voice. Then he shakes his head and begins to pace, with that familiar, slightly rocking gait he takes, “I got there a few weeks back. Asked after her in town, was directed up to this right nice looking place - sort of place a man could retire to with no complaint.” It’s odd, he’s almost talking to himself now, “I go in and there’s this girl, but it ain’t my Jim. This one’s scarce heard of her. Jim Hawkins, she says, I dunno, dunno when she’ll be back, if she’s  _ ever _ coming back...”

This doesn’t make sense - if he’s telling the truth (and truth be told, Livesey still has her doubts), then something’s missing here. People don’t just vanish - Jim Hawkins is not the type of person to simply vanish without a trace. “What happened then?”

“Well, I left, didn’t I?” He leans heavily against the table, “Came back here, to this pit of a city, where a man can make a dishonest livin’.”

“You didn’t wait?”

“No.” He smirks, but it’s a little cracked, “I’d heard enough. Did I really believe that she’d spend all these years sat sighing and waiting for a dead man to walk in? Nah, that’s never been her.”

But maybe Jim  _ had, _ Livesey thought. Maybe that was why Jim Hawkins had never left that town. It’s a dangerous thought, so she keeps it to herself.

Silver draws himself up and is suddenly composed again, cold and careless, “So what’s our plan?”

“Our plan?!” She splutters, “No, there is no ‘our plan’...”   
  
“Course there is, I need to get out of Jones’ way until he calms down. I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t need your help.” She already has a plan, and Long John Silver does not fit into it.

“Yeah, but the thing is… you do.” He glances upwards before adding, “Think about it. You know how to talk to the law. Respectable society. You, the good doctor, they’ll give you anything you want. You know how to play their game. But when it comes to villains and thieves, and finding out what’s  _ really _ going on out there, I know who to talk to. What to ask.”

As much as she is loathed to admit it, his argument makes sense. If they’re going to find out what’s really going on, they’re going to have to cast a wider net, including individuals Livesey would otherwise never come into contact with.

“Well I have saved your miserable life.” She remarks airily, “Twice now. You owe me.”

“Is that what you really think?” He asks. He starts to pace again, this time he’s behind her, leaning over her shoulder. “Look, Doctor. I know you’re good. Disgustingly so. And you’ve just proved yourself back there to be very, very useful in a tight spot. But I know that you think I’m rotten to the core. Not to be trusted. And, fact is these days, I can’t work with someone who doesn’t have even a speck of faith in me. And I can’t let them just walk out of here.”

The reality of his words quickly sinks in. Her pistol lies across her lap but she knows full well she will not be able to reach it quickly enough.

“So what do you want me to do?” She says, as he walks back to the opposite side of the table.

“Convince me.” He declares, “Convince me you think I’m someone you could put your trust in. Could work with one more time.”

Who knows how much time she has. Every minute she wastes here the trail goes colder. And he’s right, she can’t ignore that fact - he could prove very useful. He could be the key to finding out the truth. And if not? Well, circumstance has given her another chance to bring him to justice. But he doesn’t need to know that.

It’s a risk, either way. And she can’t sit here forever. So she does perhaps the stupidest thing she’s ever done in her life - picks up the cup, raises it to him in a mock toast and proceeds to gulp it down in one go.

* * *

Captain Hill is a fool, and Jim realises it three days too late. Hill hasn’t left his inclination for drink back on land, and he’ll disappear for hours at a time when most needed, before reappearing, reeking of spirits and barking orders at his crew which contradict the very orders he gave them earlier. He all but takes over piloting the ship, and every night Jim takes a glimpse at the stars and realises that this man has no idea where they are going. Their very positions seem to mock her as she looks up and her stomach drops when they’re not where she expects them to be.

A few fellow newcomers to the crew give her grief about their erratic course, but they’re swiftly shut down by the bosun, who has sailed with Hill before and knows him and his ways too well.

“You’re the  _ navigator,”  _ The handsome young mate accuses her, flinching at every creak of the mast and muttering darkly to himself when he thinks he’s alone. “You should be guiding us properly.”

But it’s not that simple. When she tries to discuss it with Hill he takes it as a personal attack, raging at her, cursing, blaspheming. “I will not be told how to captain my ship by a  _ girl.” _ He spits the word ‘girl’ out like it tastes foul and in that moment, as she flees his office, she decides she hates him.

There’s whispers in the air of mutiny, but as if Hill has some greater being looking out for him, they’re foiled, all foiled, by the storm that comes rumbling in from the south, too fast to outrun. The thick, dark clouds roll in, stretching in every direction without a break. As he climbs up the rigging to join her, she sees the usually calm bosun pale as he takes it in.

“I’d come down if I were you, Hawkins,” He says, quiet but firm, “Quickly now.”

After that it all happens so fast. The wind picks up and whips across their faces, tearing ropes from their hands and making the sails crack and snap above them. The waves rear so high they splinter across the deck and soon it’s impossible to differentiate between sea water and the rain battering down on them. The ship is tossed like a child’s toy and they’re all thrown about as they try to time their actions between clinging on for dear life. The ship suddenly tips and she’s flung to the railing, knocking the air out of her. She’s vaguely aware of someone shouting her name over the roar of the wind, as she grips the wood under her scratched palms and presses herself up - but the sea is so close, and so dark, and it’s like it’s not trying to snatch her this time, but reaching out, almost temptingly...

She has never been more aware that there is nobody at her back to grab her now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long time since she last set foot here. 
> 
> Since she fled, her mind adds. Maybe she’s the one who has changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is going to have so many OC's, I'm so sorry. But this is what happens when you kill off half your cast in the original material, Bryony Lavery!
> 
> This chapter directly refers to events that took place in one on shore, so if you haven't read that yet, I'd suggest at least reading chapter five.

“You’ve got guts!” Silver remarks, as she sets down the cup with a loud thud. “That comfortable life of yours hasn’t rotted them away just yet. I’m nearly impressed.”

“What was that?” She gasps. If she can make herself vomit now, will it be enough to save her?

“Wine. Just wine. A very good year, too.” He cackles at the expression on her face, “ Did you really think I’d bring you all the way up here to poison you? It is a very unsatisfactory method of murder, believe me.” He drags out the chair across from her and folds himself into it. “Guts.” He says again, half to himself. Then he clears his throat, rubbing his hands together, “So. We have ourselves an agreement. I help you, you help me. What’s our first move?”

“Black Cove!” It comes out a little more eager than she intended, but her heart’s still beating fast inside her chest, so she doesn’t bring herself to care, “I want to see for myself if Jim’s there - and if not, then what she’s left behind. Then you to your work, and me…”

“To the squire?” Silver adds.

She nods, “He must know more than he’s been letting on.”

“That man has a brain like an old net, every secret falls out.” Silver sneers, “You’d know already if he was lying.”

She tilts her head in half-agreement, “Maybe once.”

Silver rolls his eyes, “Oh yes, change. We’ve all changed. You were very insistent about that last time we met. Well that’ll be easy enough, he’ll give you anything you want. Thinks the bloody world of you. Though what’s that worth these days?”

A stab of annoyance flares up inside her. “You know this is likely only going to work if we work together?”

“And what if, let’s say, I decide to betray you?” He asks, tauntingly.

Nice try. She sits back and allows herself to smile. “I’ve refrained from ending your life several times now, Mr Silver, though I’ve had the opportunity. It’d be unwise to try and push your luck any further. Although,” She adds, “There’s something I’ve been asking myself - what do you get out of this?”

He doesn’t reply for a long time. He leans back in his own chair and looks at her with that same shuttered, unreadable look in his eyes he had back when they first met.  _ This man is closed for business. _

“Peace.” He says, eventually. His tone is cold as stone. “That’s what I get.”

“Very well.” Sensing that it’s probably not the best course of action to push  _ her _ luck any further, she sets her pistol onto the table.“By the way, I haven’t forgotten, you owe me one of these.”

“Yeah, about that. Lost it.” He grins at her as she splutters her outrage, “Get used to it Doctor, I wager you’re going to suffer far worse than that before we’re done.”

* * *

Black Cove. As they crest the top of the cliff road, days later, she can’t quite describe the sudden rush of contentment she feels upon finally seeing the little town again. She and Silver part ways a mile out of the town - if anyone should recognise her it’ll cause all sorts of questions to see her with company.

It’s early evening when she passes through the square. Some things have changed, but she finds she struggles to recall exactly what they looked like before. One or two passers by double take when they recognise her -  _ Doctor Livesey!  _ They treat her with a friendly distance; it’s been a long time since she last set foot here. 

Since she fled, her mind adds. Maybe she’s the one who has changed.

The address Jim has added to her letters leads Livesey to the east of the town, to a very comfortable looking inn. It had been newly built when Jim and her grandmother had moved into it, with all the small, but necessary comforts Jim had desired.

The place is quiet when she steps inside. There’s one grizzled gent sat in the corner drinking beer and scribbling something on a scrap of paper. As she watches, he curses to himself and crosses it out before starting the calculation again. Other than that, and the dark haired youth behind the bar (a boy, this time), it’s empty. Then again, it’s still fairly early - if this place is anything like the Admiral, it will fill up nicely as the evening progresses. Places like this usually do, it’s clean and dry, and after the door swung shut behind her there was not a draught to be felt.

The boy glances up suspiciously as she approaches. “Can I ‘elp you?” He says, sounding very much like he’d prefer to do anything else.

“Good evening.” She glances around the room once more (although what she’s checking for she could not say), before saying; “I’m looking for Jemima Hawkins. Is she here?”

The boy’s frown deepens at the name and he looks stubbornly at the floor. “I - no, she ain’t here.”

“Can you tell me when she’s due to return?”

The boy worries his lip slightly, before raising his voice and tilting back toward the kitchen door, “Sarah!”

An older girl appears, quickly taking in the scene before her. “Good evenin’ ma’am,” She’s young, but her voice is measured and controlled, “what seems to be the trouble?”

“No trouble.” Livesey says quickly, “I’m just looking for Jemima Hawkins. I’m an old friend.”

The girl, Sarah, tilts her chin defiantly. “There’s no Hawkins here.”

“So I’ve heard.” Livesey replies, “Do you know where I can find her?”

“No.” The girl clasps her hands in front of her and smiles, close-lipped, in a way that fully translates to ‘please leave’.

Well, marvellous. “If you hear from her, tell her Doctor Livesey-”

The girl’s face suddenly drops. “You’re Doctor Livesey?”   


“I am.”

She takes a step forward, her eyes wide, “Doctor  _ Diana, _ Livesey?”

She tries not to grimace at the use of her first name, “...Yes.”

There’s a loaded pause, before Sarah’s face breaks out into a beaming smile. “I can’t believe it.” She says quietly, “The way folk talk about you, I thought you’d never…” She stops, clapping her hands to her mouth in delight, practically jigging with excitement. The transformation is staggering, “It’s  _ you!” _

Livesey blinks at her, “...Is it?”

“Pardon me, but - my mother, God rest her soul, she thought you really were something special. I mean I’m not sayin’ you’re not, but - oh, she talked about you!” She flips up the hatch and hurries through.

Livesey’s completely lost, “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand.”

“You helped her. She said you weren’t much older than - well, not much older than I am now I s’pose, when she called you in the middle of the night, wanted you to come and help with the birth.”

“Hold on - the birth…” She looks at the youth behind the bar who is clearly mortified by the girl’s excitement. A son. Mary Davy’s sister (Heavens, she’d never even asked the woman’s  _ name, _ for shame), who’d summoned her one evening to help deliver her baby... Of course, he’d be old enough now - how the years have passed! He catches Livesey’s eye and suddenly looks away, blushing.

Sarah beams at her. “My little brother! She were always a bit disappointed that Tom was born a boy, wanted to name him after you. So when the little one came along…” She glances up and suddenly her voice turns severe. “I can see you up there.”

Livesey turns to see a young girl of eight or nine at most, crouching at the top of the stairs in her nightgown, chewing nervously at her thumb nail. She flinches as she realises she’s been spotted.

Sarah adopts a warning tone as she calls up; “You either go back to bed or you come down here, don’t clutter up the stairs.” Sarah looks back at Livesey, “Anyway, when that one came along she demanded she be named after you. We call her Ana for short. Oh Lord, listen to me prattling on...”

Full introductions are hastily made. Sarah brings her a brandy without her asking and the sudden feeling of nostalgia that washes over Livesey momentarily almost paralyses her. They take the table by the fire, Sarah sliding onto the bench opposite and continuing her saga. Ana - the child named for her, she doesn’t quite know how to feel about that - tiptoes up, perches next to her sister and stares unrelentingly at Livesey in a slightly disconcerting way. 

“Pa went to pieces when Mama died.” Sarah continues, “So I reckoned it meant it was time to make my own way in the world. Thought I might be able to find work up at the Hall, but no luck. But Squire’s a good man, told me to seek out Master Hawkins.” She laughs, “Jim’s amazing - she hired me, then she hired Tom. When she heard about Ana she said to bring her here too, if we wanted.” She looks down at her hands on the tabletop and smiles contentedly. “I don’t rightly know what we’d’ve done without her. But it wouldn’t have been anything good.”

Jim understands poverty, Livesey thinks. And hunger - Jim’s grandmother had refused all charity, even when times were very bad. She’d been a proud woman, principled, even to her own detriment. 

“She’s a remarkable person,” Livesey agrees, “And I’m afraid she’s why I’m here. I haven’t heard from her for several weeks now. I need to know she’s all right. I expected to find her here.”

Sarah’s smile fades. “That’s fair.” She says quietly. “You’ve a right to ask, she said you were friends. Truth is…” Sarah breaks off and looks skywards, choosing her next words with care, “Truth is, Jim’s been away at sea. She’s been a fair few times now. We look after this place when she’s away.”

“At sea? Where?”

“Oh, all over the place. She went to Italy and all sorts, worked on merchant ships. She’s the most wonderful navigator, she knows all the stars and the names of-” Sarah stops herself, “She’s been doing honest work, I promise you.”

“I don’t understand.” (She shoves away a memory, Jim and Silver, sat side by side, almost touching, both staring to the skies) “I’ve had letters from her, regular letters, they never stopped before now.”

She sees Tom and Sarah exchange a look across the room and her heart sinks with dread.

“Jim knew that if you didn’t hear from her, you’d worry. She’d - she'd write four or five letters ahead of time.” Sarah admits, “Then get us to send ‘em every few weeks. She didn’t want you to worry!” She quickly adds.

Oh, that clever, wretched,  _ clever _ girl. Livesey slumps back in her seat and shakes her head in disbelief, “I’m afraid it’s a little late for that.” This is not Sarah’s fault, she reminds herself, she cannot scold this girl, she cannot shoot the messenger. “So where is Jim now?”

Sarah rubs at a mark on the table, her brow knotted with worry, “Well - we don’t exactly know. She’s been gone too long. She swore blind she’d be home by now.”

Livesey takes a fortifying sip of the brandy, swiftly processing everything she’s learned. “Do you remember where she was bound? The ship, the captain?”   


“The Cormorant.” Sarah replies, “Bound for - oh where did that lad say… started with a B...”

“Barbados.” The boy, Tom, has joined them.

“Barbados.” Sarah snaps her fingers. “That’s the one. Well-remembered, Tom.”

Tom grunts and hurries away to serve two new arrivals.

Sarah watches him go before adding, “I am frightened though, Doctor. What if something awful’s happened to her?”

What if indeed. She’s tried not to think about it, even though it’s an inescapable fact, highly possible, in several terrible ways - but Sarah’s looking at her with the slightly desperate look of someone trying to hold it together, her little sister leaning heavily against her.

Livesey can’t lie to these children (and they are children, really. Sarah looks to be about twenty, but with the forced maturity that comes from having a lot of responsibility thrown upon a girl from a young age, from tragedy). But she can’t snatch their hope either. Livesey lowers her voice, “We’re going to go and find her.”   


Sarah’s face alights with curiosity “We? Who?”

“A sailor friend of mine - he knows ships.” It’s feeble, but Sarah seems to accept it.

“Is it Mr Gray?”

Gray? Good Heavens, she’d forgotten all about him. Whatever became of him? “No… how do you know about Gray?”

Sarah laughs, rolling her eyes at herself, “Jim used to tell us stories about her adventures - especially the first one, with the treasure map and the island.”

“And Ben Gunn!” Ana pipes up, suddenly alert at the mention of her favourite story.

“And you and all! How brave you were. And see, she used to tell us about…” Sarah casts a quick look over her shoulder and drops her voice, “The wicked, one legged man. I thought I was too old for stories like that, but Lord, he even frightened me! And it’s silly, but every time I see one I get all tense and I think ‘what if’ - even though I know it’s not - but I don’t trust them, especially if they start asking after Jim.”

Carefully, Livesey asks, “Does that happen a lot?”

“Not really. Hardly ever. Makes me realise how silly it is. But there was one - not too long ago. It were awful strange. Turned up one stormy night, sat in the corner and asked me all about Jim,” She smirks, “Said I knew of Jim Hawkins by reputation, but not to where she’d gone or how long for. Couldn’t say when, or if, she’d ever be back. He weren’t too pleased about that.”

“That was a sensible thing to do.” Livesey assures her.

“It’s just…” Sarah shrugs uneasily, “You just dunno who to trust these days.”

“No,” Livesey agrees, staring into her brandy glass. “You really don’t.”

* * *

“That’ll be sugar.” Silver says, when she reports back to him. They’ve found rooms in a far less pleasant establishment (her shoes stick to the floorboards and there’s a strong smell of damp mixed with something she can’t quite identify), but it’s five miles out of town so there’s less chance of anyone recognising her here. “Or slaves. Did you say The Cormorant?”

Livesey nods. She’d had to politely turn down the offer of a room and supper from the siblings, and it probably looked suspicious, she heading back out into the night with no word as to where she was going.

“Sugar then.” He concludes, half to himself, “Not big enough for slaves.” He glances up and adds; “Used to see ‘em in Bristol every few months. If the captain had half a brain he’d be dangerous, but the bosun’s sound.”

“Did you find out anything?” There’s a noisy bunch carousing on the other side of the room, and their singing and arguing will cover any of Livesey and Silver’s discussion.

“Odds and ends. There was a merchant ship moored off the bay five months ago. One fella rowed in, two back out. No sign of ‘em since.”

“Well it fits.” Livesey admits, “It just doesn’t explain the extended absence.” She sighs, “I can’t believe Jim’s been lying to me all this time.”

“I can.” Silver remarks, unhelpfully. Livesey looks sharply at him in time to see a smile on his face that is unmistakably  _ proud. _ “Would you have approved? Be honest now.”

“Perhaps not.”  _ Definitely _ not. There’s another gale of laughter from the revellers, granting her a little more time to think it over and time to shift the topic; “First thing tomorrow I’ll call at Trelawney Hall. See what the squire can tell me.”

Silver gestures grandly at himself, “And I’ll get myself to Bristol and start being nosey. You be there by Friday, else I’m leaving you behind.”

“Behind where?” She asks as he throws back his drink.

“England, Doctor, England! I’m finding us a ship.” His eyes flash with determination, “We’ve come this far, you didn’t think we were going to stop now, did you? We’re going to find her.”

_ Bring her back, Doctor, _ Sarah had said to her earlier, a composed resolve doing its best to hide a young girl’s fear.  _ Please just bring her back, or send word she’s safe. That’s all we want, really. _

So that’s all Livesey has to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels like she’s walking into pitch darkness, and yet there’s something, some tantalising potential that feels just ahead of her, just beyond the edge of the shadow. 
> 
> Justice, possibly - vengeance is too strong a word, a prospect she does not want to entertain.

The next morning she walks the once familiar route up to Trelawney Hall. It’s good to do this again and for a moment, trudging past the tall hedges that line the entrance to the estate, she feels much more like her younger self - pre-island, pre-pirates (pre-striking  _ deals _ with pirates), when her worries and fears seemed so small in comparison.

The footman who answers the door is new, but polite, and seems to know her by reputation; when she says “Doctor Livesey for Squire Trelawney,” his expression lights up with recognition, and he quickly ushers her inside. 

She waits in the vast entrance hall, remembering the first time she ever set foot in here, how she stayed rooted to the spot, as every step she dared take sent a sharp rap of her shoes on the tiles echoing off every wall. Now she has no such qualms and idly paces, relishing every tap, as she takes in the grand wood panelling of the walls. A vast portrait of the previous squire (a ferocious looking fellow, who Livesey is quite glad to have never met) takes pride of place above the fireplace.

The rapid patter of the footman’s steps alerts her to his return, and she quickly turns, already smiling in anticipation.

The young man emerges from the doorway looking nervous, “Mrs Trelawney, Doctor Livesey.”

Oh.

She’s never really thought much about what the reported Mrs Trelawney would look like, so anything would have been a surprise. Still, the woman who appears in the room is somehow further still from whatever preconceptions Livesey might have had. She’s good looking in a refined and polished way, her eyes small and bright with intelligence. Her dress looks incredibly expensive and she moves with the small, careful steps of someone who is constantly and acutely aware of how they are being perceived. Very aware indeed - her expression is composed and unreadable, bar a delicately arched eyebrow.

For a moment they just stare at each other, before Livesey quickly gets over her shock and bows, “Mrs Trelawney. Good morning. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

No response. The woman looks Livesey up and down critically and eventually replies; “I always imagined you’d be taller.”

She’s tempted to laugh, if only to break the tension she realises she’s holding, “I’d always hoped so too. Unfortunately this is where nature decided I should end. Are you well?”

“I am.” She steps across the room, keeping a steady distance like Livesey is infectious. Her footsteps are somehow completely silent. “John is on his way, I just thought I’d come and get a look at you for myself. To satisfy my own curiosity.” Her eyes flicker to Livesey’s shoes, her cuffs and there’s a slight grimace that implies a level of dissatisfaction, an implication that she in that instant, has the sum of the doctor. “How long is it, Doctor, since you were last here?”

“Five years, almost.” Livesey clasps her hands behind her back, “Far too long.”

“Five years.” She purses her lips, still circling, “And yet they all still talk about you.”

“This town has been very kind to me.” A last attempt at joviality, but it falls flat as Mrs Trelawney’s expression does not alter.

“That is apparent.” She looks away and out of the window, “I think you’ll find, Doctor Livesey, that this town has moved with the times.”

“Well, as has the world.” Livesey looks away as well, for some courteous distraction, but she accidentally looks again at that intimidating portrait. It doesn’t help.

“You mistake my meaning.” Mrs Trelawney says with a small and rather patronising smile, “This town has survived, indeed it has thrived, without you. If you’re attempting to reinstate yourself here, you won’t find it easy.”

Livesey feels a stab of annoyance - she’s already spent longer than she would choose with Silver, her most loathed person in the known world, and has come here expecting a little light relief. It does not seem forthcoming. Her quickness overpowers her manners and she replies; “Is that a promise?”

Mrs Trelawney opens her lips to respond, but is prevented by the sudden arrival of her husband, who bursts into the room, grinning broadly.

“Livesey!” He declares, striding across the room and grabbing her hand, shaking it vigorously. There are new lines in his face and he looks a little paler, but otherwise he is the same Trelawney she’s always known.

Livesey decides to forget her annoyance, ignores Mrs Trelawney now staring at her suspiciously, and returns the handshake.

“You should have sent word you were coming!” He says.

She dips her head apologetically, “Forgive me, I hoped we’d known each other too long for such formalities.”

“Formalities be damned, we’d have killed the fatted calf!” Trelawney cries, throwing up his hands, “Rolled out the barrel, given you a proper welcome. Doctor Livesey has returned to Black Cove! How long are you here for?”

Her heart sinks, “Until Friday.” 

“Friday?!” He booms, “Not long enough, by half! You must stay a month, at least.” He looks between the two women, “Heavens, you two haven’t met!”

“We’ve met.” His wife says curtly. “And now I shall leave you to your business.” She takes one final look down her nose at Livesey. “Doctor.”

“Extraordinary woman.” Trelawney remarks, as she departs, him seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere. “Who’d have ever thought that I should marry! But come, let us get out of this ice house, come through to the library.”

He summons the footman again, requests tea and continues his line of questioning as they walk, seemingly without stopping for breath. How is her health, her practice, when did she arrive, what news from the north, what brings her here… 

That’s the one - what brings her here indeed. She waits until they’re installed in comfortable chairs in the library and the pleasantries are finished with before she takes that on.

“I’m worried for Jim. Her letters to me stopped suddenly, and when I came to investigate I found that she’d run off to sea.”

“Ah. Yes. Might have known about that.”

“Might?” No, he’s still a terrible liar. That hasn’t changed one bit. “Don’t try and deny it, the girl up at the inn told me everything.”

“...Yes, yes I did know about that.”

“I thought as much. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because she asked me not to.” He leans forward eagerly, “Oh but Livesey, you should hear the stories young Hawkins tells, the things she has seen. She’s a navigator, did you know? She’s terribly good at it, she already had potential, but after the proper study-”

“And where,” Livesey cuts in, casting her eyes towards the shelves that surround the two of them, “Did she acquire this ‘proper study’?” She’d always liked this room, with its treasures from overseas lined up above the towering rows of tomes, a central headquarters of sorts. The room had been picked for this purpose due to its position, the window permitting enough light to prevent the place looking gloomy, but nothing ever falls under a direct glare of the sun to fade or damage it. There’s a lingering scent of tobacco. They used to come in here to talk all the time, especially on the night the map was discovered, and he’d spent the rest of the evening trying to talk her into the venture as she spent an equal amount of time trying to talk him out of it.

Trelawney at least has the decency to look a little guilty. “She has been here. Of course. She’s used my books, my maps. Heaven knows I wasn’t using them anymore.”

“So you are in part to blame for this?”

Trelawney frowns, “Now, wait one moment-”

“I hoped that the business with the treasure would keep her on land for life, put her off seafaring forever. I thought she’d be safe!” She folds her arms and tuts, “What were you thinking?”

He won’t look her in the eye now, but he doesn’t seem at all repentant; “You didn’t see her.” He says quietly, but with feeling, “After her grandmother died. Jim took it very hard. Drifting around like a little ghost, for months, just… lost. I thought if there was something I could do, anything…”

She tries again - “There must have been other options-”

“You weren’t here.” It’s the closest he will ever come to an accusation and they both know it.

The anger drains out of her and Livesey looks at her hands. “No, you’re right. I wasn’t. And I didn’t come back here for a fight.”

“You’re worried, as am I.” Trelawney reassures her, “It’s been too long. But I have people on the case. They’re to inform me as soon as she makes port.”

“So do I. As a matter of fact,” She sighs in disbelief, “I have found myself agreeing to go and help search for her myself, with another fellow’s help. Hence my leaving so soon.”

“Good!” the squire exclaims. “I’m glad to hear of it. No, this is good Livesey, you’re a sensible sort and I have every faith in you. If there is anything I can do to assist, you say the word.”

The gratitude she feels is some comfort, but she has to tell him - and he’s not going to like it. “I have some news.”

“Oh? More news?”

She waits until he’s set the cup and saucer safely back down before saying; “Long John Silver survived the cave in. We met again a few months ago in Edinburgh.”

Any mirth and amusement left in his face evaporates, “He’s alive?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m not sure how. Pure luck, I think.” She sighs again, “In fact he’s…” She shakes her head, not quite believing she’s even saying it herself, “He’s the man I’m working with.”

Trelawney’s face drops. “Silver?” he hisses,  _ “Silver?!  _ Livesey, are you out of your mind?”

A valid question and one she’s not entirely sure she can answer. “After the things I have done, he owes me service.” Trelawney scoffs at that, but Livesey persists, “I’m no sailor, but he is. And he can get me information.”

“But - but  _ Silver!” _

She can feel herself colouring and feels compelled to defend herself. “Don’t you remember what they were like on that voyage?” She asks, sitting forward in her chair. “Practically in each other's pockets, right up to the moment he betrayed us all. If there is a soul alive who…” Who knows Jim. Who can predict her footsteps. “He could be the key to finding her. I have to try.” She has to prevent it, too.

“Then let me come with you.” He says, pointing aloft in that way he’s always had when he strikes upon an idea.

“No.” She says firmly, “I need you here. In case…”

“Why, in case you don’t come back?”

The very idea suddenly veers dizzyingly close. “It must be entertained as a possibility.”

“No.” He looks away with a frown, “I cannot permit you to go in that case. To work with the pirate who would have killed us all if he’d had the chance...”

“And what about Jim?” Livesey protests, “Do we just abandon her?”

That’s got him, he winces, but perseveres - “But if you should be discovered in his company!”

“I will work it out, somehow.”

Silence falls in the library. Somewhere far beyond the window the plaintive call of the gulls rises above the winds from the sea rattling past. She’s not sure if she wants to be talked out of her plan now. To come back here and hear what she has, discover what she has discovered… She feels like she’s walking into pitch darkness, and yet there’s something, some tantalising potential that feels just ahead of her, just beyond the edge of the shadow. Justice, possibly - vengeance is too strong a word, a prospect she does not want to entertain. Doctor Livesey is many things, but she is not a woman of vengeance. 

“Wherever Jim is,” She begins slowly, “If I should find her - then I might be able to beat him there. I didn’t warn her the last time. This time I may have a chance.”

“Be careful, Livesey. This is a dangerous road you’re taking.” Trelawney replies

“I failed her once. I can’t do it again.” When he doesn’t reply, she adds; “And perhaps this time we can bring Silver to justice. For Ruth,” That’s a low blow, but she suppresses that guilt, this isn’t the time for it, “For Smollett. We’ve been given another chance to do that.”

“Well.” He says, hoisting out of his chair, “Consider this some collateral then.” He crosses to the bureau and draws out a document. He works in uncharacteristic silence as he adds something to the end, folds it and collects wax and seal.

“What is that?” She asks, watching the crest set in the cooling molten wax.

He slips the paper into a protective leather case and offers it out to her, “It is an arrest warrant.” He says quietly, “For the notorious pirate John Silver. To tell you the truth, I have had this ready for quite a while.” He holds it out to her again, not quite meeting her eye, “It may come in useful if...”

_ If we both come back alive? _

She takes it before she can decide against it, almost snatching it, and tucks it into the inside pocket of her coat. Be careful. Not this time. This time she must walk through the dark and play Silver at his own dangerous game.

* * *

The heavy clouds have blown away by the time she arrives in Bristol, giving way to clear skies and brisk, chill winds. This Bristol isn’t the Bristol she thinks she remembers. Sure the crowds and the noise and the smell (who could forget that stench) are all familiar, but new trade and new buildings disorientate her as she tracks down their meeting point - the Spyglass Tavern.

The model sign of a telescope squeaks as it swings on its rusted fastenings above. At the door she turns and looks back at the harbour. She can see it all in her head like it was yesterday, Hispaniola waiting proudly for them. Then she blinks and the vision is gone, and she doesn’t know any of these unfamiliar ships that wait, lined up like condemned men.

Livesey steps into the Spyglass and the conversation immediately falters - it doesn’t go quiet, but there’s an unmissable dip in the hubbub and a few uneasy glances thrown her way. There are some rough looking salts in here, most of them probably half-pirate at least, but she looks around until she spots Silver and makes a determined line for him. He gives her a nod, and that seems to satisfy the other customers, and soon the din returns to its previous clamour. This place is rough - damp marks the once-white walls, the floor slopes and there’s something suspiciously crimson flicked onto the ceiling, in a spot too awkward for cleaning.

“I do amaze even myself sometimes,” He says as she sits down opposite him. He’s chosen his place in the tavern with care - back to the wall, all the exits in sight. “I’ve found us a ship. The Emilia. Passage to the Caribbean, we leave tonight.” 

Heavens, he really wasn’t going to wait for her. “Are you sure? All the way to Barbados?”

He looks her right in the eye. “Absolutely.”

She huffs in disbelief. “Well. Marvellous.”

Silver continues, looking over the top of her head at a new arrival. “We’ll be earning our keep, mind, as ship’s doctor and cook.” When she doesn’t object (and he judges the new customer as no threat), he surveys her suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” He says immediately, without flinching. “You learn anything new from our old loose-lipped friend?”

She picks at a loose splinter in the sticky table. “She’s working as a navigator. She’s been studying, using the squire’s library.”

He cocks his head, “Who, Jim?”

Livesey nods.

“Clever girl.” There’s an unsettling warmth in his tone that makes her muscles clench, but she lets it go. He signals to the man behind the bar and an ale is clonked down before her seconds later.

She rubs her cuff around the rim before daring to take a sip. The whole experience at Trelawney Hall has left her feeling strangely off-kilter. It feels like a lifetime ago she was sat across from Walker pretending that this whole trip was nothing more than a social visit and now she’s leaving England  _ tonight. _

On a  _ ship. _ Her stomach already churns in anticipation.

Silver’s staring at her again. “What?” He demands, with a renewed firmness.

She stares back for a moment, and then for some reason she finds herself recounting her entire exchange with Mrs Trelawney to  _ Long John Silver _ of all people. And for some reason, he seems to actually listen.

“Pay her no mind.” He says, with an unusual calm when she finally pauses.

“That is easier said than done.” Livesey replies, “She is my friend’s wife, I must pay her some mind at least.” And then, because even though she knows the notion is ridiculous, she has to get it off her chest; “I believe she actually thinks I'm competition!” 

Silver scoffs, “Well that’s ridiculous.” 

“I know!”

“Competition would suggest that she is in any way a threat to you.”

She has to press her mouth shut to prevent the burst of inappropriate laughter that has suddenly sparked inside her from escaping and forces it into a disapproving sort of half cough instead. She sits back instead as Silver laughs to himself, and feels the corner of the warrant’s case press against her ribs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sea is millpond calm, the air cooler than it was earlier. The darkness around their vessel stretches on seemingly endlessly, but good sense tells her that there is a horizon out there. 
> 
> Should that be reassuring? The hundreds of miles of empty water trapping her here suggest otherwise.

The first three days are  _ Hell.  _

Her nausea permits to abate slightly after that (although it remains there, lurking in the background, for long afterwards) and she can then begin to focus on living beyond the end of the next hour, or looking at something other than the bottom of a bucket.

Silver has already charmed everyone on board, because of course he has. The crew consider him quite a wit, he quickly remembers all their names and has inside jokes with several of them. There is an unmistakable spring in his step as he relishes being back on the sea, and she swears that on some mornings, as she passes the steps to the galley, she can hear him singing to himself.

At least she is not short of distraction. Almost every member of The Emilia’s crew has some form of complaint to keep her occupied. They do not warm to her as much as their new cook, but there’s a cool, detached respect, especially with every demonstration of her skill. The young carpenter quickly learns from every nick and cut he gains on the job, and grumbles that she is far too worried about him keeping them clean. The grizzled old gunner with the complaining gut listens politely when she tells him that he would probably feel much better if he was inclined to consume anything more than just plain potatoes and grog, but Livesey knows he is not convinced.

On the first occasion that she manages to drag herself up to the deck she burns from the sun on her face and forearms, which sting and itch her awake all the following night. Her fingers twitch with the ill-advised temptation to pick at it as she lies in her bunk, staring at the walls and repeating in her head everything she knows to be true. Jim was a navigator, on The Cormorant, bound for Barbados. That’s where the trail ends - for now. She scowls at the grain in the planks around her, as if they’re to blame, spelling out the answer in some language she’s never studied.

Realising she’s still wide awake, she resigns herself to activity. She gets up, shoving on her shoes and muttering under her breath, before carefully climbing the creaking steps up to the deck.

The sea is millpond calm, the air cooler than it was earlier. The darkness around their vessel stretches on seemingly endlessly, but good sense tells her that there is a horizon out there. Should that be reassuring? The hundreds of miles of empty water trapping her here suggest otherwise.

And it’s quiet. She can count two others about their duties from the spot she takes, seated on one of the steps leading to the bridge. She stares out into the dark and repeats in her head everything she knows to be true. To ground herself. Who knows where she is? Trelawney does, but how long will he wait if she doesn’t return? The tiny pinpricks of light making up the stars above and the regular slap of waves against the ship serve as a reminder of the steps she has taken thus far. 

She concentrates and tries to orientate herself from where she is - they turned south west this afternoon, so north is…

“You’re up late.” Silver remarks, appearing at the bottom of the steps.

She flinches, too aware of the arrest warrant still safely slotted in the inner pocket of her coat.  _ His _ arrest warrant.

He notices her startled reaction and smirks, jerking a flattened hand towards her in mockery of a strike. “Joking, joking.” His other hand holds a small metal dish as he maneuvers himself to her perch. “Flag of truce, flag of truce - if I ‘ad one. This’ll do.”

He tilts the dish a little to reveal a clump of rags, frayed but clean. By the smell she can tell they’re soaked in milk.

“Noticed you cooked yourself alive earlier. Do they not, y’know,  _ have _ sunshine in Edinburgh?”

“No, it was outlawed by parliament in 1703.” She retorts with a grimace.

He snickers. “Well. This should help.” He holds his own arms out in front of him demonstratively. “Like this, come on.” 

She warily rests her stinging forearms across her bent knees and he drapes a cloth over each. The sudden cold of the liquid against the burns is such a relief she could weep.

“Why?” She asks, gesturing to the rags.

He sits one step higher, setting the dish down with a careless clatter. “You don’t cook as well as I do without earning yourself a few kitchen scars in return.” He hitches up one sleeve to reveal the warped skin of a healed, but once vicious burn. She can tell from the scarring that in the instant it happened it must have been agonising.

“Well.” She pauses, “Thank you?” When he doesn’t reply, she clears her throat, just to break the silence again. Then she tries to shuffle further away from him, his mismatched legs draped down the steps alongside her. When she looks back at him he’s leaning back on his elbows, staring up at the night sky with an unreadable expression on his face.

So she looks up too. It’s something of a novelty being able to see the stars clearly like this. In the cities there’s so much smoke and fog, the buildings stacked up so high that it’s difficult to see the skies clearly. Here there are no such obstacles. The now long ago nights she used to walk back along the coast path from the Admiral, slightly wobbly legged and her head flung back to the heavens, there were no such obstacles. On first glance tonight she quickly finds a part of Ursa Major, the Plough, as some of her patients call it, as it sits high above them.

“Where do you suppose she is then?” He says.

The sound shakes her from her stargazing, “Barbados, I most certainly hope.”

He scoffs, “Y’know there’s a very good chance she’s not there?”

Ugh, that  _ tone,  _ that tone that immediately makes her feel like some silly, ignorant child. At her age she is far from naive, but he just finds the ways of picking at the gaps in her experience like snares in fabric. “Then what are we doing?”

He’s still looking skywards as he replies, tilting his head mockingly, “Same as we did in England. Asking around. Finding a trail. She’s remarkable, that girl. Someone will have noticed her.”

“Like you did?” She says, the comment loaded.

He looks sharply at her and for a second something flashes across his face akin to fear - but maybe she imagines it, as it’s gone in an instant, replaced with a grim stare. “She was old enough to know the score, even then.”

What  _ nonsense.  _ “You were old enough to know better.” Livesey replies quickly, “She was  _ sixteen, _ seventeen at the very most. And she was always small for her age, ever since I first knew her.”

He looks away, shaking his head, but it’s a calculated, self-aware movement. “That’s what comes from growing up poor and cold and hungry. But you wouldn’t know a thing about that...”

He has a point. Before the morning she walked away from her parent’s house in her dead brother’s clothes without a backwards glance, she had never gone to bed hungry once.

“When you’re a kid,” Silver continues, “You don’t realise the world is unfair. You think what your lot is, that’s how it is for everyone. Then you start meeting other people - and you work it out, and you see how the world is full of wickedness and greed. And while evil men rule this terrible world, the only way to get anything for yourself is to steal it back.” Silver sits forward so he’s almost arching over her. “You really think I’m one of those men who goes around seducing innocent girls, just so he can score points? I’ve got far bigger things to worry about than that. You don’t know me at all.”

She forces herself to glare back, “No, I don’t.”

He tears the rags from her arms (she only slightly regrets that bit) and makes to storm off - except he slips on his false leg on the third step and stumbles heavily, regaining his balance at the last minute. 

She sees his shoulders tense in mortification, and starts to her feet to assist, “Here-”

He flinches away from her, “Don’t you  _ dare.” _

For a moment they both stand frozen in this strange standoff. She remembers all too clearly how he can produce a hidden blade as if from thin air.

It’s she who concedes and sits back; “Very well.”

He goes to leave, then looks back, turning on a point as another thought strikes; “Does it frighten you  _ that _ much, Doctor? Never really knowing what went on when Jim was out of your sight?  How long was it? Four, five hours? A long old time. Anything can happen in that time. Whole world can change.” His mouth quirks in a mockery of a smile. “That’s between my Jim and me, and it always will be. Sweet dreams, Diana.”

Now he leaves, and this time he does not stop.

* * *

The next few weeks are underscored with a tension Livesey can’t ignore. There’s a fear that creeps into the pit of her stomach whenever she sees Silver in conversation with others in the crew - what’s he saying, what dissent is he creating? But if their opinion of her changes, she cannot tell. Maybe he says nothing at all.

One thing is for certain however, and that is after that night on the deck they don’t speak again - at least not face to face. If he has something to say to her, he’ll plant it in an announcement when they’re gathered in a group - say something that sounds general and then end it with an ‘if that’s acceptable to you, Doctor?’

Of course that draws attention and no shortage of wry jokes about her granting her permission.

She hates him for it.

The ship itself seems against her - she’s penned in here, trapped in this small space with this dangerous man and who knows who else he can get on his side.

Work is a fine distraction. One of the carpenter’s cuts turns a funny colour and the threat of losing his thumb scares him into taking her advice seriously. She sits up all night one time with the bosun, whose thoughts are dogged by memories he won’t describe, but plague his defenseless dreams. Her ‘respectability’ has built a wall between them, as he insists he can’t tell her things he’s seen.  _ Not you, not a good woman like yourself. _

If only he knew, she thinks.

When the call of land finally goes up it’s a blessed relief. The cry sparks all kinds of activity, and there’s a rush of people to the deck. She follows, eager to glimpse Barbados at last.

The young carpenter spots her, grins, and nudges the others aside to make room for her to lean over the edge for her first glimpse.

The weather today is kind to them, the skies a brilliant blue and throwing the outline of the land into fine contrast. A great mount reaches up from towards the centre of the isle like the fin of some massive creature. The flora that stretches up towards the peak is lush, vibrant green and as they get closer, she can make out a golden seam of beach that hems in the island. Leggy palm trees stretch upwards. Even if she hadn’t become accustomed to weeks of endless water, she believes she would still find it entrancing.

A hand clamps onto her shoulder and she looks up with a start to see Silver beside her.

“Get ready to go ashore.” He orders, his eyes trained on the island before them. “Quickly.”

Shaking herself free, she obeys (this once), racing back to the poky cabin where they’ve set up her temporary treatment room. She’s left her trunk back at Trelawney Hall, trading it in for a tough duffel bag to hold her equipment and other essentials.  _ Much more befitting an adventurer,  _ her friend had said upon offering it to her. Now, convinced that everything is safely packed, she slings it back over her shoulder and returns to the deck in time to follow Silver and a raucous handful of others into the jolly boat. The row from ship to shore doesn’t take too long, but to Livesey it feels interminable as she tries to keep her impatience concealed. To be back on solid ground again is a wonderful prospect.

“I hope you find your friend.” The bosun says, pulling on the oar, and then seeing her confusion adds; “Long John says you’ve come out here looking for someone.”

She feels annoyed for a moment, having gone to great lengths to keep the purpose of their journey vague, but the bosun’s intentions seem good. “Thank you.”

“Everybody knows somebody around here.” He adds, good humouredly. “Even if they don’t know your friend, someone’s brother’s, friend’s, girl’s son will have heard of the ship!”

And then they’re there, pulling the boat up onto the beach, their boots revealing where they need fixing by the saltwater leaking in, and onto the baking sand. It feels like the whole world is here - snatches of other languages can be heard on the air and the clothing of passers-by mark them out as fellow visitors to this shore. She already feels hot in her coat.

Tearing her gaze away from this activity, she collects her bag and rounds the front of the boat to find Silver parting ways with the bosun.

“Well, good luck.” Their crewmate says, smiling at the both of them, “And welcome to Nevis!” 

_ What. _

She nearly stumbles back into the shallows, twisting around to question him - “N-Nevis?” Her stomach dips in alarm, panic threatens.

“Aye, aye, that’s what the man said.” Silver says, catching her under the elbow and herding her away into the flow of people, “Come along Doctor.”

Incredulous, she finds herself hurrying after him, “Not Barbados then?” Any goodwill she might have felt upon this leg of the journey ending has evaporated.

“No, not quite.” He dodges a couple of oncomers and heads determinedly into town. The streets are narrow here too, and full of people, yet they feel more open than their British counterparts. It may be the sunlight, how it glares down, inescapable.

He’s been here before. It’s so obvious now. Fury. Pure  _ fury. _ “You lied to me, Silver!”

“You say that like it’s the first time it’s happened.”

She grabs him by the collar of his coat, yanks him backwards so hard that her shoulder twinges and forces him to look at her, her voice an enraged hiss; “You said that you’d found us passage to Barbados.”

He carefully extracts himself from her grip and makes a great show of dusting himself off. “And we are mere  _ miles  _ away. I promise. Barely a hop and a skip - a hop and a hop in my case - and we’ll be there.” He sighs, “Listen. Have a little faith in me! I’ve got us this far. And be honest, would you have stepped foot on that ship if I'd been straight with you? Said no, we won’t get to Barbados in one go, but we’ll get far enough and that’s the difficult part!”

“We could have found another ship in Bristol.” She replies begrudgingly, through gritted teeth.

Silver nods slowly, “To take you, most likely. But to take me too? Be sensible. Truth is… truth is, the Emilia crew didn’t want to know until I told them I could promise them a doctor.”

She frowns at him, scanning his face for traces of another lie.

“Now  _ that _ is true.” He says, as if reading her thoughts. “And that was the tough part. For me. But it’ll be easier here. Stick with me.” He gestures to the island around them. “Have some guts, Doctor. I know you do.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a reminder of - not home, despite her success there, Edinburgh has never felt like home, not fully. Like a tight new shoe, it’s taken these past years to wear in and it still aches every so often.

Then Silver’s away - weaving his way through the crowd, none of whom give either of them a second look, and giving a running commentary on the culture of the island. Livesey tightens her grip on her bag and hurries to keep up with him. 

“The governor here is an idiot. Runs the place with his best thugs while he lives the high life, doing the absolute bare minimum to stop his superiors pulling him out of here. If he weren’t such a pompous git, I’d envy him.” Silver stops suddenly, both in his movement and speech. Livesey wishes he would _stop doing that_ as she digs her heels into the dust to stop herself colliding with him.

“Listen-” He herds her aside, out of plain view, and reaches inside his coat. “If anyone tries to make any trouble for you…” He brings out a dagger, small and plain, but she can tell it’s sharp even from here.

She regards it cautiously. “What do you want me to do with that?”

He holds it out to her. “It’s a bargaining tool. You might need it. Law and order ain’t exactly the first priority around here.”

She’s cut people open before on many an occasion, bled them without batting an eyelid. But this concept, the idea of pushing a point in to kill, to be close enough to do so… this is why she far prefers a pistol for defence. You never have to get too near. “I really don’t think…”

He grabs her hand and presses the handle of the dagger into it. “Get thinking.” He says, without a trace of humour, as he folds her fingers over it. “Or it’ll be you on the pointy end of it.”

She slips it into her coat pocket.

After another half mile or so, they stop outside a ramshackle looking place that looks as if it’s stood up to dozens of sea storms without repair, and is now held together with little more than sheer force of will of the residents. The stained paint is peeling and even from outside she can hear the floors creaking like the whole structure is a ship at sea. Inside it’s dimly lit, with a thick fug of tobacco smoke hanging in the air. Beyond it stands a row of much newer warehouses that dwarf this structure like a line of sentries, and everyone else heading for them laden with merchandise seems to ignore this place altogether.

“The proprietor here owes me a favour.” Silver says, as they climb the uneven steps to the porch. “He knows everyone and everything, if he can’t find a ship heading for Barbados, nobody can.” He stops at the doorway and looks at Livesey. “‘You flagging?”

She has not eaten since yesterday, and that, combined with the heat and stress of the day, has sparked a nagging headache. “A little.”

“I’ll see if he can throw some lodgings and victuals into the bargain. Wait here, don’t wander off.” He leans back at the last moment to add; “And I know this may be difficult, but please resist the temptation to interfere.”

She has enough energy to roll her eyes at him as he disappears inside. Even from here the smell (almost _sticky)_ from inside is strong, so she turns away, leaning carefully on the railing before her.

The dust of the road before her has been packed down under hundreds of feet, and is now so solid and flat that any user treks past with ease. For somewhere so foreign to her, this road is not so very different to an Edinburgh street (bar of course the heat - she can't recall a climate like it, not since - well, not since _that island),_ as people pass by, leading livestock, carrying supplies, arguing or gossiping in rowdy voices, grubby children dashing under the feet of scolding elders...

Amidst it all however, Livesey has the unignorable feeling that she’s being watched. She braces herself, one hand on the blade in her pocket and dares look up - and from across the street meets the eye of a girl.

She blinks, surprised. The girl, of around fifteen, looks halfway respectable. The fabric of her dress is faded and the cut is a good decade out of fashion, but she’s clean and neat. Her hair is lightened from the sun and her face tanned and freckled.

The girl does not look away. In fact, she’s _smiling_ back at Livesey. A bold, knowing smile. She leans against the opposite wall like she owns the place, unbothered by the heat, hands neatly tucked behind her. The kind of person who stays out of the way, but sees everything. Now there’s an idea.

Trying to ignore the now persistent ache in her head, Livesey beckons to her and the girl obliges, meandering across the street in the style of someone well accustomed to doing just as they please.

“Good morning.” Livesey says.

The girl just smirks in response.

“Tell me - do you live here? On the island?”

She nods.

“Talkative, aren’t you?” Livesey selects a coin from her pocket and tosses it towards the girl. “Will this loosen your tongue?” 

The girl catches it sharply and runs her thumbnail over the token, as if checking for faults. “You know, I think it will.” There’s a Scottish brogue in there which takes Livesey completely by surprise. “Yes, I live here.”

“But perhaps not born and bred, judging by that accent.” It’s a reminder of - not _home,_ despite her success there, Edinburgh has never felt like home, not fully. Like a tight new shoe, it’s taken these past years to wear in and it still aches every so often. But it’s a reminder of how far from there she is.

The girl laughs, and encouraged, Livesey persists; “I’m looking for a ship called The Cormorant. Do you know of her?”

The girl looks idly towards the harbour, clasping her hands, “I might do.”

Livesey digs in her pocket for another coin and the girl’s palm is already open and outstretched for it.

“Yes, I know The Cormorant. Captain Hill has gut trouble, but he won’t give up the rum.” She hands back both the coins, laughing, “I don’t need your charity, ma’am. I’m just playing. The Cormorant hasn’t been seen off Nevis for months.” She frowns, “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

“Is it obvious?”

The girl laughs again, “It’s obvious. It’s also obvious that without your friend in there, you’d never have made it past the beach without trouble.”

Livesey suppresses a grimace, “He’s not my friend.”

“All the more reason to keep an eye on him. You know you shouldn’t have let him go in alone...”

Livesey’s about to ask the girl what she means by that, but suddenly there’s a yell and a curse and a crashing sound from inside the building, and she has witnessed far too many altercations to not know that this combination of sounds never signals anything good.

Like a fox that can sense danger before it sees it, the girl is gone, but Livesey’s already forgotten her as she dashes inside. Her eyes adjust quickly to the poor light and she sees a table overturned, drink splattered across the filthy floor and Silver is face down on the ground.His arm is twisted awkwardly up behind his back by a weather beaten and scarred man, who looks like the sea already chewed him up and spat him out.

“What’s going on?” Livesey demands, taking in the situation - there are half a dozen men, all stood around watching, reluctant to get involved, while a further three surround Silver like carrion birds. They all ignore her.

“I might have misjudged the situation.” Silver remarks, from where his cheek is crushed against the floor, moments before a boot is driven into his ribs by his aggrevator’s companion, clutching at a fresh cut under his eye which is no doubt courtesy of Silver. But still, she can tell by looking at them that these are no cowards like Jones in London.

“Wait!” She cries, as the man kicks again. 

He just sneers at her and the others act like she hasn’t even spoken.

Silver tries to wrench himself away from them, “Now,” He gasps through the pain, “would be the time to bargain!”

“Are you mad?” The blade he’s given her suddenly seems like no more than a letter opener compared to these thugs. She looks around, weighing them up. Maybe she could take on one, like Bones on that fateful evening all those years ago, but there's no doubt in her mind that given the choice, the others would all side against her. She ducks just in time for a chucked bottle, a suggestion she should leave, to fly over her head and shatter on the wall behind her. She bites back a yell of fright. By the time she’s straightened up again Silver is on his back, the chief thug’s foot pressed square into where his neck meets his chest.

“Where’s my money, Silver?” The brute roars, applying pressure as Silver tries to prise the foot away.

“Livesey, do something!” He barks, with a hint of panic, so she panics too, pulls out the knife and steps forward. 

“Step away, sir!”

The brute looks surprised and she thinks _maybe this is it, maybe this is my chance,_ but before any of them can move, there’s a noise at the door-

“That’s ENOUGH.”

Suddenly all the men back away from Silver’s prone form like a receding tide, leaving him gasping like a beached fish. Livesey quickly puts the knife away (it feels too unnatural in her grip) and hurries to his side. “What did you do?”

He scowls at her resignedly, spitting out a mouthful of blood, “No, no, take your time, the man with one leg is _more_ than a match for this lot…”

“Keep back, madam.”

Now Livesey finally looks up, squinting into the light at this newcomer. A pale, thin man, with a face that could have been handsome, but is let down by a cruel downturn to the corners of his mouth, stands behind them. Even for his slight build he holds himself confidently - possibly helped by the two burlier fellows that have followed him in - and wears his confidence like an expensive coat. She watches as he takes a step towards the thugs and they inch back in turn, like dueling cadets. They’re _frightened_ of him - these monstrous men are frightened of this upstart. This is a man who’s been given too much authority, too young, and has grown up with it, relishing it.

She shakes her head, “I’m fine, thank you-”

The newcomer crouches and takes her by the arm, “I said, keep _back.”_ His fingers dig in, they _pinch,_ as he pulls her to her feet. A large and rather ugly signet ring dominates his right hand and a harsh, overly-sweet smell like lilies hits her nose as he stoops near.

(When later - much later - she checks her upper arm, there is a bruise left behind for every one of his fingers.)

“Mr Godfrey, sir.” The leader of the attackers mumbles, avoiding the man’s eye.

In the ensuing, resounding silence, Godfrey walks leisurely around the room, “What happened?”

“This man was causing a fight sir, unprovoked.”

Livesey looks up sharply. “That’s not true.”

The leader shoots her a look that would strike a lesser man stone dead, but Godfrey ignores her. He turns to one of his men and nods towards Silver. “Take him away.”

Livesey stares at him. “What?”

“This man is under arrest.” Godfrey says, more to the room in general than her.

“On what grounds?” Livesey demands, as Godfrey’s men haul Silver to a standing position, “They attacked him!”

“Disturbing the peace.” He signals, and the men begin to drag a struggling Silver from the building. He thrashes maniacally like a fish in their grip, snarling curses, but together they are able to overpower him.

Livesey follows, blinking as they emerge back into the harsh sunlight. “Disturbing the - no, you don’t understand, I need him.” He knows these ships, these people, how to get between the islands - she knows she can try, but she just hasn’t got his charm. Besides, if she leaves him behind here, she’s well and truly on her own.

“Be that as it may,” Godfrey calls back over his shoulder, striding away, “you’ll just have to sleep alone for a night or two.”

She tenses with embarrassment. “Oh, no, no no, not like that, you see - it’s a long story-”

“I’m not interested. Look, you’ll have to take it up with the governor, Mrs…”

 _“Doctor.”_ She snaps forcefully, stepping quickly into his path and halting in front of him.

Godfrey stops and stares at her. “I see. Well… _Doctor,_ aiding and abetting a public nuisance like this man isn’t taken lightly. If you want to stay out of trouble here in Nevis, I’d heartily recommend keeping your pretty mouth shut.” With that, he shoves roughly past her, sending her stumbling aside.

This can’t be happening, she thinks as she sets off after them, trying to keep sight of their departing backs, even as person after person wanders into her path. Then she sees Silver twist back over his shoulder, search her out in the crowd - there! 

“You better wait for me!” He yells, but that doesn’t make any sense...

Someone knocks into her and by the time she’s righted herself, Silver and Godfrey and Godfrey’s men are gone.

She stops in the middle of the packed main street, heart racing, trying to catch her breath. She’s in a town on an island that she doesn’t know. She knows no one. Her one link to this world has been arrested and taken away to God knows where. Her manners and respectability, which she was sold as her chief skill, are next to useless. Her head feels like it might split open, her mouth is sand dry and the sudden bolt of energy gained from the altercation is rapidly ebbing away. _Don’t. Panic,_ she orders herself. Livesey lurches to the side of the road and leans heavily on the nearest wall, head spinning and desperately attempts to steady herself.

For a second she thinks she glimpses the girl again in the distance.

And then everything goes dark, and there is nothing she can do to stop it.

* * *

The sea is reaching out to her. In that moment Jim Hawkins makes a decision. 

Not now. Not today.

She grits her teeth, wraps her arm securely around the railing and screams, _“No!” -_ although the wind tears the word from her mouth and flings it out into the air, unheard. When the ship tips the other way, she’s ready. She lets the motion right herself for her, her feet readjusting to the deck beneath. She pushes down into her soles, gets her balance - she can _do_ this, she’s done it before - and when the moment’s right, she dashes for shelter, pressing herself flat against the underside wall of the bridge seconds before a great wave breaks across the deck, sending water cascading across in front of her.

There’s a dull thud as the bosun joins her, echoing her actions and blinking water out of his eyes. “Thought we’d lost you there!” He yells over the roar of the storm, his deep voice contesting with the thunder.

She grins in exhilaration, a new steely resolve forming inside her. “Where’s the captain?”

“Who cares?” The bosun shouts in response. He nods out towards the rest of the ship, “Look, we’ve got to try and save her, or we’re all doomed. Can I count on you, Hawkins?”

She nods. She _can_ do this, even as the storm bellows right above them, deafening. This time, for now, Jim Hawkins can look after herself, thank you very much.


	7. Chapter 7

Livesey wakes under a fog. A heavy, white fog. Her very eyes feel heavy, a great weight on her chest stopping her from sitting up, but she can just about turn her head - it’s a great effort, it takes everything to simply turn and look - 

There’s someone - someone sat there. A man. Red hair, broad shoulders, not much taller than her. Familiar.

Robert? It’s her brother, Robert. Sat in the corner of the room, young as the day he died, he’s stopped in youth and she’s kept going, he’s white as snow, bar the savage bloody gash across his neck, and then he suddenly turns into Jim - deathly pale, with the same terrible cut across  _ her  _ neck,  _ her  _ blood spilt down her, and Jim stares and stares and stares at her and now Livesey can’t look away at all - then she blinks and blinks again and the ghosts are gone.

They’re gone. They were never there. There is no such thing.

“...Can you hear me?”

Livesey blinks once more, her head suddenly able to turn again and her swimming vision settles into a solid form - this one intact and familiar. The girl from the street! Livesey starts upwards, “It’s you…”

The girl winces, placing a firm hand on Livesey’s shoulder. Her previous cocky expression has been usurped by one of concern; “Yes, it’s me, hello again, don’t sit up so fast.” She says this all in one breath, before she leans back over her shoulder to shout out the door; “Father! She’s awake!”

“What happened?”

“You fainted.” The girl replies bluntly. 

An older gentleman, Livesey assumes the girl’s father, enters the room. “Ah, good!” 

“Fainted?” She’s never been one for swooning. She shakes her head, trying to dispel some of the grogginess (her head feels like it’s packed with stones) and takes in the room. It’s small and plain, the walls whitewashed and the floor rough planks, but it’s cool, without a trace of the harsh sunlight she’d fallen into darkness from. A stretch of pale cloth has been hung in front of a window on the far wall and beyond that the sound of the ocean is faint. The air smells fresh and clean.

“Too much sun, too little water, not enough food…” The gentleman tuts, pressing his fingers to her wrist for her pulse, “Shame on you, Doctor Livesey, you should know better.”

She stares at him, trying to focus through her exhaustion. He’s the least threatening man she’s encountered here so far, despite his height and broad shoulders. He’s built like a farm worker and burned to a tan from this climate. The grey in his otherwise dark hair and the lines at the corners of his eyes suggest that Livesey’s deduction of the girl’s age, if this is indeed her father, wasn’t far wrong. “How… how do you know my name?”

“Your friend told us.” Seemingly satisfied, he replaces her wrist onto the bed.

“My friend?”

The man nods, first at her and then back towards the door, where none other than Long John Silver casually leans, peeling some sort of fruit with a knife and looking far cleaner than he has in weeks - bar the vibrant black eye and split lip the recent brawl have won him.

“Afternoon.” He remarks.

If she didn’t feel so exhausted, she could absolutely throttle him, “You were arrested!”

He slices off a chunk of the fruit and shoves it into his mouth, “Yes. Told you to wait around. Wondered if you’d take your chances and scarper without me.”

Ignoring the strangers beside her, Livesey fixes Silver with a glare, “How on Earth did you escape?”

He pulls a face. “From that laundry basket they put me in? I’ve seen more secure pigsties.”

“When have you ever been within ten yards of a pig sty?”

He gestures carelessly with the knife, “Beside the point, irrelevant. Want to hear how I did it?”

“No.” She looks back at the two newcomers, “Please tell me, where am I and how long have I been here?”

“My name is Alastair Radley.” The man says calmly, “You are in my house, where you shall remain until the both of you are in any fit state to leave. You were lucky, Doctor.” he adds; “My daughter Claribel followed you and saw you go down like a sack of potatoes. She bought you here yesterday afternoon.”

The girl - Claribel? - looks rather pleased with herself.

_ “Then _ your man there turned up this morning looking for you - lucky for the both of you, my daughter recognised him, otherwise I’d have sent him off with a flea in his ear.”

“Who-” She starts again, but Radley gently raises a hand.

“You’ve got a lot of questions, that’s understandable. But you need to take your time.”

She sighs, time is something they simply don’t have -

“Time,” Radley insists, noticing her frustration. “Gather your bearings, get your balance, and we’ll be through there - come and join us when you’re ready.” The three of them leave her alone. As the door clicks shut behind them, Silver makes some remark Livesey can’t make out, but it makes Claribel laugh out loud and Livesey is suddenly  _ very  _ grateful for the presence of the girl’s father.

The minute she’s alone, she dives for her coat, slung over the end of the bed, and rifles through the pockets. The knife is still there. Her pistol, and - a rush of relief - the arrest warrant, unopened and undisturbed. She slumps back in relief and sits for a moment, willing her breathing to steady. Thank goodness for that - if Silver had found it, she’d have been in for a world of trouble. For a second she keeps hold of it and wonders... 

No. Not yet. She buries it in the bottom of the duffel bag, under everything.

Trusting her balance on the floor, she crosses to the window and lifts the edge of the cloth curtain. She squints as her eyes adjust to the light and after a moment she can view a pleasant outlook. They’re outside of the town - how far she can’t be sure, but there’s no sight or sound of it that she can make out. This must be further up the coast. It’s peaceful here. Beyond a narrow stretch of rocks and grasses, the ground slopes downwards gently back towards the edge of the cliff, perhaps half a mile from here, populated with local shrubs and the occasional leggy palm. Beyond that the ocean glitters, deceptively serene.

She drops the curtain back into place and digs through her duffel bag, finding a clean shirt and stockings to replace her current garb (now smelling more than a little ripe). The shirt is crumpled from the journey, but it’ll do. She rakes her fingers through her hair, battling with the worst of the tangles as she pulls it back. Grimacing, she notices that the sunburn on her forearms has now started to peel in tiny white ridges. Resisting the urge to roll her shirt sleeves back, she leaves them down, hoping the peeling skin will go unnoticed. She finds her boots, neatly placed under the bed, and hurriedly pulls them on, twisting her foot awkwardly into place as she races to catch up with the others.

Through the door she emerges into a slightly larger, but equally plain room, this one for living and eating. Here there’s a faint smell of dried herbs, and on the far counter sits a heavy mortar and pestle among the kitchen things. Silver and the two strangers are sat at a battered wooden table that bears several scorch marks, and Radley gets up to offer Livesey his chair. Once she’s sat, Claribel places a cup of tea in front of her, but it looks so alien after all her recent experiences that Livesey regards it with an inward suspicion.

“Now,” Radley says, leaning on the back of his daughter’s chair “What do you wish to know?”

Livesey gestures in good-natured exasperation, “Who you are? Why did you decide to help us? That would be a fine place to start.”

“Alastair Radley.” He repeats patiently. “And to tell you the truth, it wasn’t quite my idea.” He looks to the girl. “My daughter took pity on you. And she’s always been able to talk me into anything.”

Claribel grins from her end of the table, her chin tucked into her hand.

Radley continues; “But I am a powerless man in a world of ill-used power, Doctor. So I have always tried to treat people kindly, with what little I have.”

“Well. Thank you.” Livesey replies. “I’m not sure what I’d have done if your daughter hadn’t come to my aid.”

“I have a question.” Silver interrupts. He’s sat back in his chair, looking critically, calculatingly, at the Radleys. Weighing them up, deciding what course to take, will they be useful to him. “What are you doing out here with an accent like that?”

Radley seems unruffled by the question, “I came here twelve years ago as the former governor’s apothecary. The man bought four doctors along with him. There wasn’t a thing wrong with him, in my eyes, but that man worried himself to an early grave.”

“But you decided not to stay on with the current governor?” Livesey asks. She sees Claribel cast a quick, worried look at her father, but he looks unperturbed.

“The new governor and I do not see eye to eye.” Radley replies. “Doesn’t help that he’s a corrupt devil.” He looks at Silver. “I look at other islands in this part of the world and think I’d prefer a pirate rule.”

“He doesn’t mean that.” Claribel says quickly, as at the same time Silver jokes (Livesey hopes it’s a joke) that it could be arranged.

“I bloody well do - if you’ll pardon the language, Doctor Livesey.”

“She’s heard worse.” Silver remarks.

“The man who arrested - him.” She nods towards Silver. Calling him a friend is a step too far. “Who was he? The men here all seem frightened of him.”

“Cyrus Godfrey.” Radley says with a forced calm, “The governor’s right hand. A bilge rat of a man with friends in high places. Godfrey does the governor’s dirty work. He has no qualms about doing awful things. The both of you’d do well to stay away from him, whatever your reason for being here. But what  _ is _ that, might I ask?”

Livesey takes a wary sip of tea, if only to dispel the bitter taste in her throat, “We’re looking for a friend of ours.”

“On The Cormorant.” Claribel offers quickly. “The doctor was asking me all about it.”

“Was she now?” Silver raises an eyebrow at Livesey. She can’t tell if he’s annoyed or not.

“Captain Hill.” Radley groans knowingly, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “That man needs to learn that I can mix him a thousand tonics, but if he doesn’t give up the drink they will be next to useless.”

“Do you treat many of the crews that pass through here?” Livesey asks.

Radley nods an affirmation. “Sailors, residents, merchants, pirates. I have grown out of the habit of asking my patients awkward questions and that makes me quite popular.”

Silver looks at Livesey, “You two have that in common.”

She briefly contemplates kicking him under the table.

“You are welcome to stay here while you look for your friend.” Radley offers, and Claribel visibly brightens at this news. “The Cormorant works the route to Barbados, so you might be wise to head there.”

“We’re trying to.” Silver explains, “We just need to find a ship that will take us.”

“But we won’t be here long, I assure you.” Livesey adds, “We don’t want to impose.”

"You’re not imposing, honestly.” Radley replies. “But as I said - avoid Godfrey’s attentions. He likes to make life difficult for people, and I’m sure he wouldn’t make you two an exception.”

Soon after, all four of them disperse. Father and daughter have their own work to attend to, and Livesey grabs Silver’s sleeve as he goes to leave the table. “Outside.” She mutters.

They head for the door at the front of the property, which leads them out to a rough and stony lane.  The door has barely shut behind them before Silver turns, grabs Livesey by the neck and all but slams her against the wall of the house, knocking the air from her.

“Do I have to do  _ everything _ around here?” He snarls, pressing down on her windpipe.

Any other time she’d have the presence of mind to escape his grip, but she still feels weak from her faint, and her head spins as she gasps for air, dark spots blossoming in her vision.

Silver’s grip lessons a fraction - he’s obviously decided not to kill her just yet. “Well? Bloody useless, standing there like a door post while I was getting crushed half to death by that oaf…”

“There was not a man there not twice my size!” She protests, trying to prise his fingers from her neck. 

He relents, practically dropping her. She staggers to keep her balance at the sudden release.

“If you let that stop you, you’ll never get anywhere.” Silver grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Finally confident she’s not going to faint again, she turns back to him; “What the blazes happened with the proprietor?” Realises she’s moved too fast, wobbles slightly - she curses her recent incapacity.

“Nothing.” when she gestures to his injuries, he adds “The proprietor’s dead - least the one I knew. He weren’t popular, so didn’t have a soul to help him when they came for him in the night. But what Cooper - the delightful individual who gave me this - didn’t realise was that he’d inherit the connections, but he’d also inherit the debts - of which mine are sizable.” Silver looks rueful. “They expected rich Flint’s old quartermaster to have enough on him to solve all their problems. And I expected to be able to outwit them. We were both poorly mistaken.” He pulls a face and continues with a forced lightness; “Turns out my reputation is not what it used to be.”

She’s in no mood to be sympathetic, especially after how he’s just treated her. “Be that as it may,” Livesey retorts; “We still need to find a way to Barbados.”

Silver glowers, “Well I’m not giving up!”

“Neither am I!” Livesey replies fiercely.

“Good!” He snaps, which is not what she expected.

Irate, she looks away, taking a few exploratory steps back down the lane. It slopes downwards and away - she assumes back towards town. The sun has moved a good distance across the sky since she first glanced outside, and the glare is not so oppressive now.

“I’m heading down there,” Silver says from behind her, “See who I can find from the old days.”

She turns. His head’s down, a look of deep thought on his face. “What about Godfrey? He’ll be looking for you.”   


“It’ll be dark by the time I get there and I’ll be discrete.” He casts a quick look back towards the house before saying; “I can go unnoticed when I want to.”

“Then I’ll take the day shift tomorrow.” She decides. “There has to be some way off this island.”

He’s already walking away, “Alright, alright.”

She knows full well she shouldn’t say it, but she still hisses after him; “And stay away from Claribel!”

He pauses, but doesn’t turn back. “I’ll try my best.” He remarks, darkly.

She stays out in the lane as he departs, that distinctive scuffing step fading into the distance as he disappears into the gathering dusk. Will he come back? He’d seemed concerned that she’d go on without him. A highly tempting prospect, but at least this way she knows where he is. 

Her head still aches.

“Everything alright?”

She jumps at the sound, but it’s only Radley, stood in the doorway with a worried look. She sincerely hopes he didn’t hear her last comment.

“Fine.” Not fine, she hasn’t been remotely fine for a while. She rubs tiredly at her forehead. “For the purposes of total clarity Mr Radley, there’s something I need to tell you. John Silver and I are not friends.”

“Indeed?” Radley replies, dark eyebrows raised.

“We are working together through necessity.” She explains, as she heads back towards the house. “It’s a long and strange story, and truth be told he is not the ally I would have chosen.” The hammering in her skull seems to intensify, as if prompted by such thoughts. “Nor the man I would have wished for you and your daughter to come into contact with.”

But Radley remains calm. “I’m not frightened of this John Silver character.” He says with a smile. “Even if you think I should be. Now come back inside. I’ll mix you something for the headache.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a tale she’s told many times now, but recently it’s felt more like she’s performing it - playing up the gruesome elements to thrill dinner guests. 
> 
> But now, and here, she doesn’t feel the need to exaggerate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is probably going to be longer than sixteen chapters, my planning stages were optimistic to say the least.

Dawn has scarcely broken the next morning when she’s wrenched, shaking, from a strange dream - she’s back in the tunnels beneath the island, the ones that had claimed the lives of their enemies in the collapse. All bar one, it has since become apparent.

The tunnels in her dream are narrower and more cramped than she recalls their real life counterparts being, their walls oppressive and leaning in towards her. As she dashes down one, then another and encounters dead end after dead end, the paths getting smaller with every step, she realises that this is it, she’s trapped, there is no getting out of here. She hears something behind her and turns in time to see a shadowy figure lunge towards her-

And that’s when she wakes.

It takes her a moment to catch her breath and remember where she is, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Then in an instant it all comes flooding back and she closes her eyes again with a groan. But she feels guilty - the Radleys have treated them with such undue kindness that she’ll never be able to repay. The least she can do is not appear ungracious.

Now definitely wide awake, she dresses, washes her face in the basin in the corner and heads out of the room.

She stops in her tracks upon spotting Silver asleep in a chair. He’d come in very late the night before and deeply morose from his lack of success. He’d still been up, staring sullenly out of the window, when they’d all eventually retired.

His wooden leg is propped against the nearest wall, within arm’s reach, and his face is pinched into a frown even in sleep. 

Her shoulders still occasionally ache from where they hit that wall. She wonders if he ever has bad dreams. 

She edges around the far side of the room away from him like he’s a tethered dog and, in search of their host, slips through the back door to another side of the house she hasn’t ventured to yet. Emerging onto a veranda at the back of the property, she spots Radley already up and about. He looks around at the noise and smiles. “Good morning, Doctor.”

She’s temporarily distracted by the ground beyond the veranda. It’s a garden, but unlike any she’s seen in England. The scrubby grass has been tamed between neatly arranged beds of plants, positioned to catch the best of the sun. Purples and yellows are mixed within the dominant green in an impressive example of an apothecary’s garden. Of course - she should have expected this.

Radley holds out an arm in flourish, despite the self-conscious hitch of his shoulders. “What do you think?”

“It’s remarkable!” She tells him. “Did you do all this?”

He nods. “The soil was good, the ground just needed clearing when we first came here. When my colleagues in the governor’s house were slipping the best silver into their pockets upon being dismissed, I, the madman, was taking cuttings. These are the tools of my trade. It’s in my best interest to keep them tidy.”

She’s drawn towards a familiar looking flower, its prim white petals looking as out of place on this island as she likely does. “That can’t be Feverfew...”

Radley joins her. “It is - you know it?”

She gently inspects one of the blooms between her fingers, “I use it for my older patients and their joints. And fevers too, of course.” She looks up at him, “I would’ve thought it was too warm for it to grow here.”

He looks proudly at it. “I bought over a plant when we first moved to Nevis. Everyone on the ship must have thought I was most strange, the lengths I went to to look after that thing. Folk have always found me unusual though.”

“I think I know how you feel.” And then she finds herself saying; “Sometimes I feel like I’m not quite enough of one thing or another. Not ladylike enough for that half of society, but not a man, so will never be accepted into those circles.”

Radley tilts his head sympathetically, “Does it bother you?”

“Sometimes.” She eventually admits, “But I’ve been lucky to find friends who accept me. I’ve built a fine enough life for myself and learned not to wish for too much more.”

Wise enough to leave the topic alone, Radley talks her through the rest of the garden. There are plants she recognises alongside ones she doesn’t - strange foreign species for dulling pain or settling the stomach. Radley cuts open one plant with thick, solid leaves and tells her how the jelly-like substance inside is ideal for burns.

This garden is clearly a labour of love. Everything here has a practical use, but there’s a beauty in that practicality. And Radley knows them all by name, by their full Latin names and the simpler terms that field working folk dub them. For a while she can forget that Long John Silver is nearby, that Jim Hawkins is missing, that she is, technically, stuck here and that the future is uncertain. For a while she feels incredibly content. Here there is knowledge and order and… peace.

Radley pauses midway through an explanation of one of the specimens; “Forgive me, this must be terribly dull.”

“Not at all.” She says sincerely. “I find it fascinating. I wish I had this. I’d never have to buy medicines again.”

Once the tour is complete, they breakfast sitting on the steps of the veranda. This, she realises, is the first time in weeks she has sat down and fully relaxed, not constantly looking over her shoulder.

“I don’t have many opportunities to show this place off.” He says. “Claribel knows all of it by heart already. I wager she’ll be far better at mixing treatments than I ever will be.”

“She’s a bright girl.” Livesey replies. “I thought that when I first saw her, she notices everything.

Radley laughs, “Pity whatever fool marries her, he’ll never get away with a thing.”

Claribel herself then emerges from the house, her hands cupped around something and Livesey watches as the girl kneels to release a small lizard - it darts away quick as lightning. Claribel brushes her hands together, satisfied and heads back inside, pausing only to throw a quick ‘morning!’ their way.

“So what is the story with you and Mr Silver?” Radley asks, once his daughter is out of earshot. “What circumstances led you to become such reluctant allies?”

She’s still watching where the lizard dashed off to, so replies without really thinking about it; “He tried to kill me five years ago.” It takes her a second to realise how bizarre that sounds and turns to see Radley staring at her bewildered. Quickly she finds herself telling him the whole story, from Billy Bones’ chest to Ben Gunn’s caves. 

It’s a tale she’s told many times now, but recently it’s felt more like she’s performing it - playing up the gruesome elements to thrill dinner guests. But now, and here, she doesn’t feel the need to exaggerate or perform, and Alastair Radley isn’t visiting gentry and doesn’t react with scandalised gasps. Those were never really needed, she just got used to it. This time she even adds the final chapter, of Silver breaking into her practice in the middle of the night looking for aid.

“And now you’re out here looking for the cabin girl.” He whistles through his teeth “It’s a big old ocean out there, Doctor. You know you could search forever?”

She nods in agreement, looking up to see a lone seabird wheeling arcs across the sky. “But what’s my alternative? Sit at home and wonder for the rest of my days?”

“You could drive yourself mad both ways.” Radley offers.

“Then I choose madness through activity.” Livesey replies. “As much as I appreciate home and hearth, I have never been very good at keeping out of things. Particularly when I see something that I think isn’t right. Mr Silver has a way of getting-”

“When you’ve both quite finished moralising,” Silver announces from behind them, making them both flinch at his sudden appearance. He looks at Livesey, but there’s no evidence in his expression that he’s overheard their conversation, “You’ve got work to do, can’t bask in the sun all day.”

“I was going.” She retorts as she gets to her feet, regretting how childish she sounds.

“May I accompany you?” Radley asks, “I can advise you who to avoid and I have payments for medicines to collect.”

Silver is  _ looking _ at her in a deeply infuriating fashion, but she purposefully ignores him as they head back inside; “I’d appreciate it.”

_ “You’re _ going into town?” From her spot at the table Claribel fixes her father with a questioning look, hands stuck on her hips.   


He avoids her eye, “Aye. Don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not, I'm just…” Claribel looks from her father to Livesey and back and raises her eyebrows. “Can I come?”

“Yes.” Livesey says quickly. Silver’s not the only one capable of mathematics. She will not leave these two remainders together.

In the end, it turns out well. The walk to town is not too far, and Radley points out examples of local interest on the way. Livesey suspects it’s to distract Claribel, who is bombarding her with questions about how she came to be a doctor, but she doesn’t mind a bit.

They pass those warehouses again on their way to the shore. A new ship has arrived that morning, and there is a great deal of activity as great heavy sacks are passed among a group of men. Once past there, Claribel assures them both she’ll see them later and goes dashing off in another direction.

Livesey looks after her with concern. “Should we follow her?”

“She’ll be fine.” Radley says. “The locals know her and look out for her, And she can take care of herself.” He suppresses a chuckle, “Last fellow who tried anything nearly lost an eye. A little adventure is good for young ladies.”

Livesey recalls saying something very similar a long time ago. Ultimately it’s led her here.

She’s left her heavy coat back at the house and feels better for it. It’s another warm day, but walking about like this with an adopted local, she feels far more at ease. She realises, as they make their way along the seafront, that Radley’s assistance is a boon - anyone who doesn’t already know him is quickly at ease in his presence. With his existing patients he primes them first, asking after their recent ailments and offering advice or expressions of gladness at their recovery. Unfortunately the few sailors who don’t have a problem with a woman aboard are either heading the wrong way, or have heard about Silver’s run in with Godfrey.

One of them won’t even look at Livesey as he explains, keeping a careful watch on the street behind them; “We can’t risk it Mr Radley - if we can’t sell here it makes things difficult.”

(Worse still, there has been no sighting of Jim’s ship or it’s crew for a long time. “Hill?” One fellow says, scrunching his face in scrutiny. “Haven’t seen him in months. Thought he was dead.”)

“We’ll find someone, wait and see.” Radley says, but Livesey can’t bring herself to believe him for all his goodwill. Silver is an errant piece of merchandise that she must bring along, and can’t rearrange to fit with her plans.

Livesey finds herself reconvening with Claribel as she heads out of town, spotting the girl loitering aimlessly outside one of the outer buildings. Radley has departed on some other business of his own, so it’s good to see a friendly face again.

“I didn’t expect to see you again this soon.” Livesey remarks buoyantly, but the jollity falls flat when Claribel doesn’t return the smile.

“Can I walk back with you?” The girl quickly asks. Her hands are occupied, picking at an edge on her dress.

“Of course.” Livesey replies. “I’m glad you’re here actually. I’m not sure I can remember the way back, I may be in need of a guide.”

“Mmhm.” Claribel nods absently and quickly falls into step with Livesey, her hands still worrying away at her garment. Livesey wonders whether or not to comment upon it.

“No luck with the ships, I’m afraid.” She says instead, taking another topic. “I fear you may be stuck with us for another day.”

Now Claribel smiles, briefly. “I don’t mind. Neither does Father, not one bit. I think he finds you interesting, Doctor.”

“Me?” Livesey scoffs. “I am deeply  _ un _ interesting, I assure you.”

“You’re different,” Claribel insists. “And unusual. He’s always been a bit that way too.” She pauses, casting a quick look over her shoulder, a small frown creasing her brow.

Livesey’s instinct kicks in. Nobody who feels safe cares so much for the path behind them. She lowers her voice. “Is everything alright?” And then she smells it. There’s the faintest trace of something, some strong perfume, on the wind as it comes in behind them.

Lilies. The ghost of a strong grip on her arm. Livesey looks round sharply to see Godfrey not five yards behind them.

Silver’s lended dagger still sits deep in her pocket. She fixes Godfrey with a steady stare that says and says only;  _ I have seen you. You have not gone unnoticed.  _ It’s a sentiment far braver than the cold and heavy dread that threatens in her heart.

Godfrey freezes guiltily, then glares back at her for a moment with undisguised annoyance before he skulks away.

Livesey looks beside her to see Claribel carefully watching him leave. Once he’s gone, it’s like the cloud has passed from in front of the sun, and the girl is all cheer and chatter again as they make their way back to the house and does not notice when Livesey checks behind them once or twice more.

* * *

Silver goes out again that night, and still hasn’t returned when she retires. It’s at least another two hours before there’s the bang of the front door that signals Silver’s return and a muffled greeting in a voice she recognises as Radley’s. Livesey realises she’s spent all this time staring up at the ceiling, thinking and thinking and every thought goes nowhere. Her thoughts feel stale and stagnant, buzzing round her head and filling this room like flies.

Her nightmare from this morning suddenly emerges from her memory. That feeling of being stuck in a tunnel, a dead end before her, no moving forward and a shadowy figure always close by.

The house is quiet, at least what she can hear of it. Accepting that sleep is still a way off (she is starting to realise that she was never very good at it anyway), she gets up and pulls her breeches and coat on over her shift. She has to get out of this room, she has to  _ move, _ to remind herself that she still can. Averse to going back through the main living room (and chance having to make conversation with Silver), she pushes the window open and, feeling a little foolish, swings a leg over the top of it, clambering ungracefully onto the grass on the other side.

It’s as refreshing as plunging into cool water and instantly her frazzled brain feels soothed. The night sky is clear. Those mocking stars freckle the heavens (tonight she shall pin the blame on them for, well, everything) as she treads quietly around the perimeter of the house, finding a sheltered spot to sit, just near the next window. Despite the buzz of insects and the far off crash of the sea against the rocks, it’s peaceful. The stone wall is cool against her back, so she rests there for a moment, closing her dry, tired eyes and filling her lungs with the fresh air.

There’s a sound from within - maybe not everything is quiet after all. She realises it’s Radley and Silver, still up and talking. Etiquette suggests she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but as far as she can recall, these two have never had such a conversation alone, and curiosity (she blames curiosity) keeps her there.

“I disagree.” It’s Radley, his tone one of amusement. “ _ I _ think your great, shameful secret is that you’re decent at heart.”

She hears Silver force a laugh, “Impossible. At heart? I haven’t got one, hasn’t the good doctor told you?”

“What absolute rubbish.” Radley replies “I’ve no complaint about having you here. You could have robbed me blind, seduced my daughter, burnt my house down…”

“Yeah well, I still might, don’t push your luck.” Silver grumbles as Radley chuckles. “That’d keep the doctor happy anyway, fulfil her expectations of me at least.”

“So there really is nothing between…”

“No, Christ, no.” Silver says. “Though I did think she’d have given up by now. Shes got a very comfortable life back in Scotland, done very well for herself indeed.”

“So in terms of expectations, she’s certainly exceeded yours.” Radley says craftily.

“Stuck up as she is, she’s made herself useful. Would you have taken me in without her?” When Radley laughs, Silver adds, “Exactly. Livesey gives me a very useful air of respectability. And a very marketable skill set.”

“But this girl you’re looking for. Hawkins?”

“She’s different.”

“Special.” It’s not a question.

There’s a long pause, before Silver says quietly, “Yeah, special.” That’s the first time he’s said anything along these lines that hasn’t made Livesey feel nervous.

“There’s a story there.” Radley replies, his voice calm.

There’s a dull thud as a drink is set down on the table, and Silver mutters; “I failed her. A long time ago.”

“And now you’ve come halfway across this wide world to say sorry.”

A scoff; “Never said I thought it was going to be easy.”

“Oh, aye, but I bet you never thought it’d be this difficult either-” 

“It’s too late anyway. And pointless.” Silver snaps, in a tone that’s trying slightly too hard to sound like it doesn’t care. “It’s a fool's errand and I’m kidding myself thinking that I’m actually… I’m actually…” Then he mumbles something else that Livesey can’t make out, but it seems to be progressing into a rant.

It’s curious. If this is another act, then it’s one she hasn’t seen before. Radley seems to be a calming influence, and why not? Think like Silver, she instructs herself, what can he get from Radley? The answer is nothing - this man is nothing to him but a roof over his head. In her eyes, Silver views people in lists of what they can offer him, to be discarded when that runs out. Like hers has, perhaps. If that’s the case, she thinks, suddenly feeling chilled, she must be on her guard.

“And anyway, even if she  _ wants _ to see me-”

“John.” It’s Radley who suddenly speaks, cutting through the ramble. There’s an abrupt and surprised pause (and Livesey is rather impressed with the swift cut through the bluster), but when Radley continues, his tone is not unkind. “Give yourself a break. There isn’t a man alive who can wear self-pity well, and you are no exception. Get a grip.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s experienced it before. 
> 
> Once before.

Livesey is sensible enough not to mention what she’s overheard, even when she and Radley return to town the next day. Silver had disappeared by the time she’d risen, but to where exactly, nobody could say for sure.

A handful of new vessels have docked just off shore, but again there’s always some aspect of their proposal the captains take issue with - they’ll take her, but not him, him but not her, they’re not going towards Barbados for another six months at least… 

By the time they turn back, even Radley’s optimism is dented.

They’re crossing the square when it happens - one moment they’re walking in step with each other and conversing, the next, Radley has stopped, stumbling to a halt, his previously cheerful expression fallen into a stoney glare.

Livesey follows where he’s looking, and spots him. Godfrey. Even in this crowded square there’s space around him - a little margin of people turning quickly away from his path as soon as they recognise him. She groans as he makes a direct line for them.

“Well, well, well.” Cyrus Godfrey purrs through that twisted mouth of his as he reaches them. “I never expected this. Alastair Radley, finally lured back to town by our funny new arrival.” He has a habit of standing a little too close, but common sense tells Livesey not to step back - he’ll only take that as a sign of weakness. That same sickenly-sweet smell, that too-strong perfume, fills her throat and sticks there. “How are things going for you, Doctor?” Godfrey continues, “I hope you haven’t been too lonely. Though it looks like you’ve made friends, of sorts, quickly enough.”

“Let’s go.” Radley mutters, attempting to move away.

“No, no. Don’t be rude. I’m not quite finished with her.” Godfrey says. He looks back at Livesey, with a stare. “Your ratty little friend decided to go for a wander from his cell. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“He’s no friend of mine, sir.” Livesey replies. “I haven’t seen him.”

Godfrey smirks and somehow takes another step closer. His nearness feels suffocating. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what happens to that man.” She says, forcing herself to look up at him. _Don’t look away. Don’t hesitate._ “Truly. I don’t know where he is.”

Godfrey looks disgruntled, but meets her gaze, leering down with a look so intense she wonders (and it’s ridiculous, but she can’t help it), if he can read minds. “Rumour has it you’re trying to reach Barbados.” his gorgon-like stare has rooted her to the spot. “Why would that be, I wonder?”

She grits her teeth. “Business of my own.”

“We need to go.” Radley says quietly, putting an arm as a barrier between them, but Godfrey lashes out, fixing his grip on Radley’s forearm fast as a serpent. That ugly ring flashes in the sunlight.

“Now, now.” He says, his tone cold. His knuckles flex, tightening, and Livesey thinks of the bruises marked across her own arm from their first run in. “Why the rush? It’s not a crime to make conversation. But see, I forget Radley, you’re something of a hermit these days. Out of practice when it comes to facing other people. All on your own up there...”

His last statement triggers something in Radley, who wrenches Godfrey’s hand from his arm. Livesey is startled to see the hatred in his eyes, so unfamiliar even in the short time she’s known him. “You’d know well about my solitude, Godfrey.” Radley says. “Being its chief architect. This way, Doctor.”

She doesn’t need telling twice as they leave Godfrey standing in the middle of the square.

“I’ve got my eye on you Radley.” He calls after them, “All of you.” They’re nearly away before he adds in a yell; “Doctor! Send the lovely Miss Claribel my _very_ best regards.”

Livesey looks back, but Radley, wound tense beside her, takes her arm before she can say anything, “Come on.” He mutters. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.” He doesn’t speak again the whole way back to the house. Livesey’s unsure what to say. Nothing feels appropriate.

The place is empty when they arrive and Radley heads straight outside to tend to the garden. Livesey follows - at a safe distance - and cautiously retakes her seat on the veranda steps. She feels somehow _grubby_ after her latest interaction with Godfrey. The Radley’s choice of home, safely removed from society, now makes a lot more sense. 

This ‘too close’ intimidation, she’s experienced it before. Once before. With Silver, five years earlier, as he tried to charm the treasure map from her hands. On reflection that had still been different. Even then she had known that it was something of an act - one of many disguises Silver took on and honed with necessity. With Godfrey it was as natural as breathing. 

Radley continues to be occupied with his ground work, but he’s unfocused - it shows clearly in the tense line set in his shoulders.

Livesey watches him for a moment more before finally deciding to speak. “Mr Godfrey appears to harbour a grudge against you.”

Radley pulls a clump of weeds from one of the beds. “He likes getting a rise out of people. You don’t know how dangerous he can be.” He straightens up, chucking the weeds into a bucket and brushing the soil from his hands. He looks as if to speak two, three times, before he finally manages to utter; “The truth is, it’s the other way around. It’s me, who has the grudge.”

He crosses the garden and sits back down beside her, all traces of his usual warmth absent. He looks tired. “When I first came to this island, Doctor Livesey, I had two sons. Twins. Never knew how proud I could be of other people until they came along. When the new governor dismissed the entire household, he replaced us with his own people. That included all the old man’s doctors. And me. All out of a job.” He sighs, knotting a fist into his hair. “I was scared. I had three children to feed by then. I managed to scrape by for a while selling medicines to people in town, but it wasn’t enough for all four of us.”

He looks down at his hands, now clasped tight in front of him. “Then Andrew, the younger of the two by an hour, caught word of a treasure voyage, heading out west to attack a Spanish ship. A share for every man. I told them not to get involved, but they were headstrong and signed on without telling me.”

Livesey’s heart sinks. This is an old tale, lived again and again by bold young men the world over.

“It was a trap. The rumours were put about by a man in Godfrey’s employ. He - Godfrey - he’d only been on the island for a month, and he was keen to make a good impression on his superiors, whatever it took. He collected the names of everyone who had applied for the venture and had charged them with piracy, without trial.” Radley stops and looks out across the garden, expressionless. When he speaks again, his tone is heavy; “My sons were hung for piracy without ever stepping foot on ship, nineteen years of age.”

A great heaviness seems to have settled. To lose a son is terrible enough - Livesey’s seen the effect it had on her own parents. But to lose two, in such a way... “I’m so sorry.” It’s not enough.

“There’s something unnatural about a man outliving his children.” Radley takes a deep breath, steadies himself and continues, “We moved out of the town and came out here. I prefer it. Staying away from society. Keeping out of trouble. Godfrey’s obsessed, he will find any excuse to arrest me now, and he has the ear of the law. And then Claribel will have no one. She’s lost her mother and brothers. I’m all she has left, and she already worries about me too much.”

“It’s a duty,” Livesey replies gently, “Of daughters to worry about their fathers. I’ve been there.” Guilt nags at the back of her mind, “You didn’t have to come to town with me. I had no idea you’d be putting yourself at risk.”

“No, but…” He shrugs, “I wanted to.”

“Why not leave here? Why not return to Scotland?”

“And go right back into some rich fool’s employ?” Radley shakes his head. “I’ve lived my whole life working for cruel masters and corrupt men. Here at least I’ll get to live and die on my own terms, I hope. It’s selfish, but I’m old and tired. Your patience runs out at some point.”

His last statement rings true. There reaches a point in everything, she thinks, a point that dragged her from her everyday life. This time at least it was of her own making, born out of her own frustrations.

Even if they never find Jim, she thinks. She has to at least _know._

“I’m carrying around all this anger towards Godfrey with me every day,” Radley continues quietly, “And I don’t want Claribel to see that. It’s no example to set for her.” He looks across at Livesey. “But I think I see that in you too. When it comes to Mr Silver. You’re still angry with him - I won’t ask why, or what for, but I know you are. Don’t let that anger consume you, Livesey. It will burn you up, from the inside out.”

* * *

After supper she stays outside for a while longer, sat with her back against the wall and deep in thought. She doesn’t realise she’s fallen into a doze until there’s a scuff nearby that jerks her alert. She snaps awake, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, to see Silver passing by with a determined pace. “Where are you off to?”

He starts, clearly not expecting to see her here, “...Damn.” He’s seething at being noticed and at first she can’t understand why. He sighs and eventually says; “I’m leaving. My ship sails in an hour.”

“Now? You should have said, I’d have readied...” She trails off, realising. _My_ ship. “You’re going alone.”

He shrugs and tries to keep walking.

Livesey clambers to her feet, stumbling a little. “So you were going to abandon me, was that your plan? Steal away in the middle of the night?”

“Don’t start.”

She makes to join him; “But you _said_ you hadn’t-”

“I say,” Silver snaps, rounding on her, “A lot of things. Alright? I found a crew today who’ve agreed to take me with them. Not you though.”

She halts. “What did they say?”

Silver gestures, infuriated. “They said - they said they won’t take a woman, alright? Some still think it’s bad luck and you know what, I don’t blame them. You’ve been nothing but a burden to me since London.”

Her fists clench at her sides. “I saved your wretched life in London!”

“You say that like it means something!” He cries. “I’d have been alright!”

She can tell that neither of them fully believe that, but there’s no point challenging him now. What can she do - follow him? Stop him? Before she can decide, he turns away again.

“I’ve found my chance. You’re on your own.”

“But wait-”

“Look.” He snarls. “You just don’t get it, do you?” Something in his hand flashes in the dim light and she realises it’s one of his knives, slipped easily into his grip. “You never, ever learn, do you, after all this time?”

It’s clear now. This alliance was always temporary - she just never thought it would expire here, so soon, leaving her stranded at this point - neither here nor there, stuck halfway. “You bastard.” She says quietly, taking half a wary step backwards. Is her borrowed knife with her? Yes, but - 

Her hand flies to her pocket, but he’s quicker. Silver closes the divide between them and there’s a sharp sudden pain on the underside of her jaw. She realises with a cold horror that he’s _cut her,_ actually cut her skin! It’s a scratch - a warning - if he wanted her dead it would already be over.

“Leave me _alone.”_ He growls, his fingers digging into her shoulders.

Stunned into silence, she clamps her hand to the cut as he releases her, shoving her to the ground. She stares up at him, shaken and scrambling for words, any words, as the blood trickles towards her collar, but they all fail her except - _“You bastard!”_ God, if she had her pistol, right now, she’d put a shot between his eyes.

“What can I say, I fulfilled your expectations.” Silver steps back, his whole body tense. “Don’t follow me if you want to live” He turns on his good heel and heads off at the quickest pace he can manage.

“Silver!” She yells after him, clutching at her bleeding neck, but he continues on, like she has never spoken, and soon vanishes into the night.

She blinks furiously at the stinging in her eyes - no, none of that. She just feels so stupid. She _was_ stupid - thinking she had the sum of Long John Silver, thinking she had any control whatsoever over this situation. She’d been so _ready,_ she realises, staring at the crimson on her fingers, to go further. To keep going.

She shouldn’t have come, she thinks, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes. This isn’t her, that’s been proven twice over now. She is no adventurer.

But she must go after him. Once composed she returns inside to see Radley and Claribel coming from the back garden.They look surprised when she appears in the doorway.

“We thought you might be Mr Silver.” Radley says, as Claribel goes to wash the dirt from her hands, “I heard him go out - my God, your neck! You’re bleeding!”

The mood in the room suddenly drops. Claribel looks up aghast as her father goes to Livesey and takes her jaw, carefully tilting her head to inspect the wound.

“I’ll live.” Livesey self-diagnoses begrudgingly, hoping she comes across as more calm than she feels.

Radley fetches a piece of bandage for her to press to the wound. His expression darkens. “Where is he?”

“Gone. He’s gone.” She mutters, resentment stinging in her throat. “He saw his chance, so he took it and didn’t bother to take me into consideration.” She forces a humourless laugh, “I don’t know why I’m so surprised - I should have seen this coming! Good for nothing, damned, bloody _pirate!”_

The three of them fall into silence. Livesey stands apart from them, her composure battling her fury as she nurses the cut.

“We’ll sort this.” Radley says eventually, “We can go down tomorrow and tell the lot from today that it’s just you now, it’s easier-”

He’s silenced suddenly by a distant sound from outside. A loud bang, and something that might be the shattering of glass.

“What was that?” Livesey looks at Radley. His face tells her that he heard it too.

Claribel is the first to move, hurrying to the front door and leaning out. “My God.” She murmurs. “Come and look, hurry!”

Without question, they follow her outside. Even in the darkness, there’s a great heavy cloud emerging into the sky, underlit by an orange glow and the heavy smell of smoke in the distance.

“That’s the warehouses.” Claribel says. “The powder store, maybe. I...” She turns to Livesey, wringing her hands. “What do we do?” Then to Radley, “Father?”

For a moment, Radley looks lost, his eyes fixed on the fire in the distance.

“Alastair.” Livesey says.

He looks at her, startled, but it seems to bring him back to his wits. “We’ll go down.” He says to her. “Pray God nobody was inside.” He starts back towards the house, and looks at Claribel. “You stay here.” 

The minute he’s back inside, Claribel’s away at a sprint.

Livesey follows. Without thinking, she goes running after the girl. Soon they encounter others heading the same way, a tidal current of men and women, all talking and shouting. 

When they reach the outskirts of town it’s already chaos. She sees that the source is the place where Silver received a beating only a couple of days prior. The dry wood has turned the building into a tinderbox and there’s already little left of it, bar the blackened skeleton of the structure. The crowded nature of the buildings means the blaze has already spread. On one side, one of the warehouses is alight, and flames pick at the next one. On the other side people are crowding a neighbouring shop where the roof is already smouldering. The heat is oppressive, everywhere tinted with an orange glow. People are already running back and forth with buckets of water, but it’s too little and too slow and the fire is overwhelming.

She’s lost sight of her. Her voice cracks as she calls out; “Claribel!”

“I’m here, I’m here.” Claribel appears, linking her arm tightly through Livesey’s like a lifeline.

“Come on-” She makes for them to move and then suppresses a yelp of alarm as someone collides with her, taking her by the shoulders and for one horrible minute she thinks it’s Godfrey. But then she recognises him - Silver. For a moment she just looks at him, then demands - “Tell me what to do.” 

He stares at her. Their last argument still hangs between them and his eyes flicker to the binding on her neck.

“Tell me what I should do, quickly!” She shouts.

She’s serious and he realises that. This is bigger than their animosity. “There are men in the warehouse. When they get them out, they’re going to need looking to. Go and set up somewhere and be ready.” He casts a look around and points to a property across the way - built from cold stone it was originally something grander, but the ground floor has now been commandeered by a butcher. “In there. Keep the windows shut.”

Livesey turns to a pale Claribel. “Fetch your father. Tell him what’s happened, tell him we need to set up a medical station. He’ll know what to bring. Go!”

Claribel nods and goes haring off again, her skirts bunched into her fists.

At the same time, a short, portly fellow joins them and looks to Silver.“Sir?”

_Sir?_

Silver clearly doesn’t think anything amiss. “Have they set up the chain?”

“Yes - there.” The portly man points to a long line of people down the next street leading up from a well and another from the direction of the sea. Buckets and pans of water are already being passed along the line.

Then it becomes clear to her - he’s...organising them?

“We need to create a break.” Silver looks down the street, making calculations. He looks to upon a makeshift wooden structure that's been cobbled together over time between two buildings. “That. We’re pulling that down.”

“But that-” The man coughs, uncomfortable. “That links the ale house and the brothel.”

“We lose that, or we lose the entire street.” Silver barks, “Up to you!”

The man grimaces, but after a second’s thought turns to his associates. “Bring it down!” He roars. 

Livesey can only stare in amazement. He’s not only still here but he’s actually trying to _do_ something.

“What are you doing?” Silver shouts, seeing her still rooted to the spot. “Get to work!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She pushes that memory aside - there is enough work to do without the past tugging at her sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick head's up - this fic will likely never get full on blood and guts graphic, because that's not really how I roll as a writer, but just to make you aware this chapter contains some injury (specifically burns) description.

There’s some feeble opposition from the owner of the shop (“You can’t do that in here!” “Yes I can, shut up.”), but soon she’s got a basic set up sorted and Radley arrives soon after (the reassurance she feels to see him walk in is indescribable) with Claribel in tow, a satchel packed full of plants - the strange one he recommended for burns she recognises - medicines and her duffel bag.

“Thought you might need that.” He says, as she gratefully digs into it and retrieves her tools.

Their first patients are the men who were guarding the warehouses. One has vast burns across his whole face and chest and thankfully passes out as they clean away the ash and debris from his raw, weeping wounds. It makes it easier. Especially when they cut his shirt away and pieces of skin come with it. For a while he’s the worst they encounter - after that there are those who have breathed in too much smoke, burns and scrapes and a woman with a great cut across her head, the type that bleeds more than is truly serious - but it reminds Livesey too well of that pirate from the Walrus, whose broken pate was sealed over with metal. Again, she pushes that memory aside - there is enough work to do without the past tugging at her sleeve.

Reports come in that Godfrey has been seen in the street, red faced and barking orders that go ignored in favour of the plans set down by, of all people, a pirate. Silver’s quick thinking has won him allies.

They’ve been there barely an hour before Silver comes stumbling back through the door, looking wildly around the room for something. “You!” He points at Livesey, “Stand up straight.”

This feels like a trap. “Why?”

He steps towards her, looking her up and down, those calculations once again flashing in his eyes. “You’ll do. Come on.”

“What do you mean, ‘do’?” She protests as he grabs her under her arm and yanks her from the room.

“Short enough.” He hobbles back towards the warehouses with impressive speed, considering. They need someone small to get through where the roof’s caved in.”

She stops dead, shaking herself from his grip. “What?!”

He shouts without turning around; “There’s no time, come on!”

Fear, for a second, keeps her rooted to the spot  _ (is _ it a trap?) before she forces her feet forwards. Sweat beads on her forehead as they approach the site of the inferno - although whether it’s from nerves or the irrepressible heat, Livesey cannot say.

She’s beckoned over to as near as bearable and crouches down as a route is pointed out to her. Just at the back there, they tell her - one of the younger men, trapped under falling timber. She can just glimpse the edge of a body from here.

Silver joins her, stooping awkwardly on account of his leg. “If Fred lifts the beam, can you get around there?” He shouts over the ruckus.

She takes it all in before responding. “I think so.” If she keeps down, she can probably make it in. Making it  _ out _ again, however...

Silver turns to a nearby woman and points at the lumpy shawl tried around her waist. “Give me that.” He plunges the shawl into a bucket of water and hands it to Livesey, sodden. “Keep that over your head. Keep your head down. Ready? You won’t have long.”

One of the bigger men readies himself near where a beam has fallen into their path at an angle. Livesey steps forward, cautiously. The temperature this close to the epicentre of the fire feels like it’s pressing down on her, filling her nose and mouth. Her hands and fingers already feel dry, the skin stretched over her bones like hide. This fire is going to swallow her whole.

“Are you ready?” Someone, she can’t tell who right now, asks again. Not Silver. He seems to have melted away into the crowd.

“Yes!” She forces it out before she can stop to think about it too much. The time for thinking about things has long passed.

With a great grunt of effort, the large man hefts the beam up, creating a space. Livesey throws the damp shawl over her head and dashes underneath. There’s no time to plan, just move - follow the patches of ash, keeping her head bent, trying not to inhale too deeply.

She loses all sense of time. All she knows is staying away from the glowing lengths of wood that surround her, listening out for anything falling, and reaching the young man.

And then she does. His arms are wrapped over his head in an attempt to protect himself, whilst his right leg is buried under a pile of heavy charred wood.

“I’m here.” She splutters out.

“My leg,” He groans weakly, “I can’t feel my leg.”

Something crashes down close behind her and he mistakes her flinch as a motion to flee. He grabs desperately at her arm, “Please don’t leave me, I don’t want to die!” 

He’s hardly any older than Jim’s Tom. The boy Livesey bought into this world. In another life these boys could have changed places. There is something frighteningly childlike in the way this one reaches for her.

She looks at the planks pinning his leg down. There’s a great likelihood he’ll lose it and become yet another dreaded one legged man of the sea. “If I lift it, can you pull yourself out?”

He tests his hands on the floor behind him, flexing cautiously, “I think so.”

She puts the shawl over her hands to protect her palms from the burning edges, “This is going to hurt.”

He grimaces, “Do it.” He still screams as the debris is lifted, the scream catching into a hacking cough, but he just manages to haul himself away before her strength fails her and the wood drops, scattering sparks.

She drapes the shawl (although by now it’s almost dry) over the boy’s head and pulls his arm over her shoulder to support him. Nerves flicker in her stomach - he’s a head taller than her, will he be able to fit back through her path?

I have to try, she thinks. That’s all I can do. The smoke is heavy and her eyes feel boiled dry, but she has to at least try as the world blurs around her.

* * *

“Well done man!” One of them shouts without thinking as she finally emerges, hands wrapping around her wrists to pull her the final few steps, but she doesn’t particularly mind.

“The boy-” She gasps, looking around for him. She remembers sending him ahead, but everything’s a haze. Her heart is beating so hard...

“With Mr Radley.” Someone says. “We thought you weren’t coming out after him - gave us quite a scare.”

She shakes off their concerns and staggers back to the butcher’s. She lurches in her steps, head spinning, but she keeps going. They’re not finished yet.

She gives herself five minutes pause only before starting again, too aware that it is now only pure nervous energy keeping her upright. The conditions (and the filthy condition of  _ her) _ would give her pause back home, but here and now there’s no other option.

With them both reluctant to send Claribel out into harm’s way, it’s Livesey who goes out again and again for clean water. She realises she’s looking for Silver in every harried face that rushes past. Probably run off with his new crew, she thinks bitterly, used the chaos to slip away unnoticed. But there’s too much to think about without worrying over that too, so she shoves that thought aside too and carries on. After that there’s no more time to think, just do.

Finally, the blaze is bought down to a smouldering pile. The break Silver ordered has stopped the fire spreading further down the street. It’s  _ worked. _

Livesey wonders how he knew, so quickly and so correctly, what to do.

The man with the terrible burns lies at the back of their makeshift hospital. It’s cool and quiet back here. His breathing is laboured now, his muscles brace and tense with every breath. It’s become undeniably clear in the last few hours that they cannot save him. 

Livesey finds a numbing concoction and looks to the worst of the wounds. These are the cases she hates - where there is nothing else to do but wait for the end.

“I’m going to Hell.” The man wheezes out resignedly. His eyes crack open, staring skywards into nothing.

“No you are not.” She replies bluntly, “I forbid it.”

That makes him laugh, though it’s a weak, strained thing now. “What, you’ll go down to the gate yoursen’ and tell Old Harry ‘you ain’t having this one?’”

“If it comes to that, yes.”

He smiles, extending his injured fingers tentatively, as if testing them still. “I burned in this life and I’ll burn in the next. I’ve done wicked, wicked things...”

Livesey grabs a nearby crate and sets it on one end. “That doesn’t matter now.” She tells him as she sits. “None of it, I promise.”

His scorched chest rises and falls, his lungs taking in stuttering, wheezing breaths. “Can you do something for me?”

Hopeless requests. They are not unusual. “I’ll try.”

His hand extends again, searching, desperate. She tries to cup her hand gently around his so as not to aggravate any of the wounds, but he holds on tight, despite the open cuts and raw flesh. The grip of a drowning man. “Will you pray for me?”

There’s little else left she  _ can  _ do.

She’s long had a few passages memorised for times like these, for those more invested in faith than science. Romans, Revelations, Psalms. She’s still unsure if she believes in any of it, but the words are some comfort to the dying. Borrowed faith to be kept in her bag alongside the scalpels and bandages. This time she avoids scripture that champions a good and pure life in favour of themes of solace and peace.

The man’s eyes close, contented, even as the breaths go in and out of him in laboured, strained whistles.

There are other things to do (there will  _ always _ be other things to do), but she stays and talks of redemption in the next world if not this one, ignoring her parched mouth and aching joints, until the grip on her hand lessens and the painful breaths fall silent.

He isn’t the first she’s had fall away like this. He won’t be the last.

Finally she gets up and heads back to the front of the shop. Radley and Claribel are still there, though their work has now calmed to setting about tidying and organising.

Radley looks up as she approaches. He glances beyond her to where the burned man lies. “Passed on?”

Livesey nods.

He’s not surprised. “You should go and get some rest.” He says gently.

She shakes her head, staring down at her filthy boots, muddied with ash and dirt. “There’s still too much to do.”

“Go.”

“But I’m-”

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “We two can handle things from here.”

Livesey looks up in time to see a small, honoured smile flicker across Claribel’s face.

“Very well.” She concedes, and suddenly feels very, very tired. So she leaves, heading out into the thick, dark blue of the late hour. 

She doesn’t head back to the house. She can smell the reek of smoke and blood even on herself and doesn’t want to take that back with her, so for a while she simply walks.

Eventually she emerges at the beach. There’s a low buzz of activity and all talk is of the blaze among those who have stayed behind; the older, the less able. She steers clear of them all and heads to a quiet spot, with a clear view of the water, and half-collapses down until she’s sitting on the sand, her legs splayed out in front of her like a broken puppet, her arms hanging useless in their sockets. Without really thinking about it, she reaches up and probes at the injury on her neck. The bandage fell off long ago. It’s started to heal, crusted with blood. And ash, probably. She picks, absently chipping away at the scab with her thumbnail. If her patient did this she’d slap their hand away and scold them.  _ Think of your well-being! _ she’d tell them. But her? Who is she? What does she care?

And then even that is an effort. She lets her hand drop into her lap and stares at the sea. Her constant nemesis. The ridges of those obstinate waves, catching the light.

The light… the paling sky, the shadows of the clouds in silhouette against it… it’s dawn. No matter what else has happened, she’s lived to see one more dawn.

And now?

There’s a crunch of sand and a slightly dragged gait, and she knows before she even looks up that it’s Silver. Relief floods through her, though relief at what she can’t be sure. 

He looks as bad as she feels - dried blood stretches from a cut on his brow, a new addition to his collection of injuries, his clothes are singed, his face and hands covered in soot. As he walks, grey flakes of ash fall from the catches of his clothes and hair like snow. If she believed in such things she’d likely compare him to a ghost. 

He stops abruptly as she turns to him. Maybe he’d wondered if she was slumped here dead - there’s enough blood spilt down the front of her shirt to suggest it. Had he been looking for her? He doesn’t say anything. Perhaps he can’t - she certainly can’t right now herself. Instead he walks to her and gingerly lowers himself onto the ground beside her, until they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. They sit, side by side in silence, staring out as the sunrise creeps over the horizon.

It really is a beautiful morning.

For a moment, she is too worn out to care about anything and the whole world doesn’t seem to matter. The whole world can go hang. Every time she closes her eyes, those flames are there, imprinted on her mind’s eye. Perhaps they will be there forever, like scars.

So they sit and they watch. By the time the sun has fully risen, she can’t shake the notion that something’s changed. She can’t say what exactly, but there’s a feeling of resolution in her mind. Things that once seemed important now seem so trivial. If there was ever a time to go back, it has passed now without her noticing.

Her mouth feels scorched dry when she finally summons up the energy to speak. “I thought you were leaving.” It comes out as a croak.  _ Truce?  _ goes unspoken

He looks despondent. “So did I.”  _ For now. _

Another handful of minutes pass before she has to ask; “How on Earth did you know what to do?”

Silver sighs and lets his head fall forward. “Because I’ve done it before.”

“When?”

He inhales deeply. “That is a long,  _ long, _ story.”

That mark on his arm. That’s no kitchen scar. It’s too brutal. She should have realised earlier. She stares across at him.  _ What happened to you? _ It’s a big question. Probably too big for now, the safer side of disaster. Too much for these early hours. Yet something in her needs to know, even though she knows full well she is not entitled to it whatsoever.

She’d considered shooting him dead as he slept once. Where would that have led?

She has to see this through now. No matter how it ends, she is too far gone and travelled too many miles to go back. Like it or not, she and John Silver are in this together until the very end. However it ends.

Suddenly, there’s the sound of footsteps across the beach, coming towards them. Livesey’s head feels incredibly heavy as she wrenches it up to see half a dozen men approaching in a regulated group. They wear what she now knows to be the governor’s colours and carry rifles, which they now aim at the both of them.

“Stop right there.” The one in front demands.

Beside her, Silver groans loudly. “Oh bloody Hell, what now...”

One of them steps forward, rifle trained between Livesey’s eyes. “You’re coming with us. Both of you.”

“We have a right to know why.” Livesey says, as they’re both roughly pulled to their feet, scattering sand in the struggle.

“The governor wants to speak to you.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She should be quite at ease in such surroundings. She’s known halls and grand houses like this all her life, and yet she’d never felt as alien to them all as she feels in this moment.

The governor’s house is ostentatiously grand, to the point of poor taste. They’re hustled into a vast hall that’s packed with trinkets and treasures, great paintings and gleaming fixtures. The pristine surroundings throw her filthy state into even sharper contrast and the servants that pass by skirt quickly around the two of them as they wait, as if they’re both horribly diseased.

They’d both been clapped in irons before being bought up here. It’s a new experience for Livesey, whose mind is now working at a frantic pace, but when the chains were produced, Silver just sighed, rolled his eyes and tilted his wrists ready behind his back like the whole thing was very dull.

Now they’ve been here for at least an hour, waiting on the governor to…

Well, nobody’s telling them quite why they’re waiting for him.

But this stone floor is deeply uncomfortable to remain standing upright on for so long and Livesey’s joints begin to ache. Beside her she sees Silver sway slightly, shifting uncomfortably on his bad leg. He sees her looking and shoots her a glare that says clear as day that if she says  _ anything _ he may have to kill her here and now.

“We could take ‘em.” He mutters an aside, nodding subtly towards the guards, now looking very bored.

She clenches her teeth. “Don’t you dare.”

Eventually one of the governor’s men unlocks Livesey’s shackles. “Come with me.”

“What about me?” Silver mockingly protests, and gets a sharp kick in the back of his good leg from his trouble. He crumples to the ground, groaning and cackling, as Livesey is hustled away.

She’s all but shoved into a cavernous office, decorated in the same grandiose style as the hall. One wall is taken up entirely with a vast map of the island, between that and her, a large wooden desk, polished to gleaming. She’s trying to figure out where Radley’s house is situated on said map when the door opens again and a smartly dressed man walks in.

“Doctor Livesey,” He says, rather stiffly, forcing a smile that is probably supposed to be welcoming. It’s not. “I am Governor Ponsford. Do sit down.” He’s taller than she expected, almost spindley, his powdered wig so white that it practically glows. As he makes his way across the room, the back of his calf shifts rather unnaturally. It’s padded, she realises, quite poorly actually, and fights the sudden urge to snicker.

How ridiculous they must look together, she thinks. He without a speck of grime on him, immaculately turned out. She stinking of smoke, her hair frazzled to straw, covered in dried blood and leaving grains of sand everywhere she walks. 

She should be quite at ease in such surroundings. She’s known halls and grand houses like this all her life, and yet she’d never felt as alien to them all as she feels in this moment. She drops into the chair offered to her.

Ponsford sits down opposite her and gestures. A servant sets down a cup and saucer before Livesey, the fragrant scent of tea emitting as the liquid pours.

Livesey looks at the tea and wants desperately to laugh.  _ Tea. _ After everything that has just happened, he’s giving her tea. She takes a sip, barely tasting it.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Doctor Livesey.” Ponsford begins, steepling his fingers. “By all accounts, you’re an unusual woman. A doctor, for one thing. A respectable member of society, but staying with that outcast Radley and travelling with one of the most uncouth rogues I have ever encountered. I hear you’ve been offered passage to your destination alone, but you will not be parted with John Silver - I assume for the more sentimental reasons of your gender.”

“With all due respect sir,” Livesey replies, coughing slightly as the tea goes down the wrong way, “I have my own more practical reasons for wanting to keep an eye on Mr Silver.”

“Of course, of course…” Ponsford says, leaning back in his chair like he’s trying to keep his distance from her. “I assume they’re more in line with your reasons for being in this part of the world.”

Livesey sets down the tea and stares right back at him. “Precisely. Much like I assume that  _ you _ have your own reasons for dragging me in here in chains.”

“The restraints were… an unfortunate mistranslation of my orders.” Ponsford winces. “I simply wanted to speak with you as soon as possible. Your associate Silver was the only one I requested be kept in line, but my men can be… overzealous, let’s say, in their actions.”

“Much like Mr Godfrey?” She quirks her brow, “From what I’ve witnessed he can be overzealous to the point of tyranny.”

Ponsford stammers over his answer, face reddening; “Well - I - I wouldn’t…” He clears his throat and moves on. “On behalf of this colony, I want to recognise and thank you for your fine work during last night’s events.”

Well, this is clearly leading somewhere. “Thank you?”

Ponsford appears to mistake her civility for complacency, and continues. “You’ve proved yourself very capable in a crisis. That capability has won you much favour with the people here - everyone is talking about it. If you choose to stay in Nevis, I would like to offer you a position in this household. I’d advise you to seriously consider it. It would be highly beneficial.”

This isn’t what she expected. But truly, perhaps she’s given this man too much credit in her expectations. “Beneficial to who, precisely?” 

“Well, to the both of us.” Ponsford elaborates, flapping a hand between them. “If you’ll excuse me saying Doctor, it’s clear to see that your… current circumstances are not of your choosing. Let me help you, let us work together. As you yourself have said, Mr Godfrey is a gentleman of great efficiency, but his - well, you’d call it ‘bedside manner’ I suppose - it needs refinement.”

“He makes you look bad.” Livesey concludes.

Ponsford grimaces. “His talents lie elsewhere.”

That’s certainly one way of putting it. Livesey sets her elbows on the desk and leans forward critically. “Excuse me if I’ve misunderstood, Governor, but to me this sounds like you want me to work for you because it will help improve your image with the people of this island?”

Ponsford smiles smugly. “It’s all politics, Doctor Livesey. Surely you understand.”

She takes a fortifying sip of the tea. “I understand. But there are an awful lot of things you could do here to win local favour. And hiring me is very far down on that list. Even if it is the easiest option.”

Ponsford’s smile falters. “I suppose you think you’re terribly clever.”

“At the risk of appearing arrogant, I do give myself a little credit-”

“But you fail to take into account progress.” When she looks stonily back at him, Ponsford continues; “Change is coming, Doctor Livesey. The world is changing and I intend to be part of it. The likes of Mr Silver and his ilk will be wiped from this earth to make way for progress, power too. And profit, for those willing to align themselves with the right ideals. Now you’re only a woman, so allowances will be made, but what has happened here is that you have clearly become involved in something you cannot begin to comprehend. I’m offering you a way out. Do you understand?”

“I do.” She pauses. “But Governor Ponsford, another thing I understand is that without either myself or Mr Silver, last night’s devastation could have been far worse. I think you’re aware of that already. But what you must also be aware of, sir, is that if I should return to England and be asked how you handled this incident, how should I answer? That you arrested two individuals who helped prevent total calamity? Or that you helped them?”

“Your arrest was a misunderstanding.” Ponsford sniffs. “Anyway.  _ If _ you should return.”

Nice try. She smiles. “The magistrate Squire John Trelawney knows where I am. He knows who I am travelling with and he knows when I am due to return.” That last part is a lie, but Ponsford doesn’t need to know that. “If I should mysteriously vanish, Governor Ponsford, people will notice. They will start asking questions that threaten your… right ideals.”

Now he looks very uncomfortable. His lips purse and he shifts like a scolded child. “We are… deeply grateful for what both of you have done.”

“Then prove it.”

Ponsford’s face falls into a sulk, “What do you want?”

“I want passage to Barbados. A direct route, without harassment or conditions. For both myself and Mr Silver. I want you to arrange it.” 

He splutters, “Silver lately escaped from custody, I can’t just-”

“Yes, you can. And you will.” Before he can argue again, she adds; “And I want compensation for Alastair Radley. He’s done far more for the people of this island than Mr Silver and I could ever do.”

“Compensate Radley?!” Ponsford looks pained, “Doctor, I assume you’ve heard about the… the troublesome business his sons were involved in…”

“That entrapment?” She cooly inspects her torn fingernails. “Yes, I’ve heard about that.”

“As such we can’t possibly expect to-”

“Just a token.” She cuts in, “I suggest two hundred pounds a year.”

Ponsford fumes. “Two hundred-!”

“As a starting point, yes. I’ll leave that up to you. That depends on how much you think my silence is worth. I hazard you don’t wish to be summoned back to England in disgrace, Governor?”

“Very well.” He yanks open one of his desk drawers, fetches ink and paper and starts writing hurriedly. “Have it. Incorrigible woman! And take your Silver too. I want you both gone by nightfall.” He glares at her as he writes, “And not a word of this to anyone. Wilkins!”

Another servant appears at the door. “Sir?”

“See Doctor Livesey out.” 

She doesn’t need telling twice, as she scrapes back her chair.

“You make poor choices in allies, Doctor.” Ponsford mutters darkly as she makes to leave. “I believe one day you’ll come to regret it.”

She bows, fixing a sardonic smile to her face. “Governor Ponsford.” Deciding not to push her luck any further (and trying not to think on his final comment too deeply), she walks as quickly as possible back to the hall. Wilkins stays behind and she hears Ponsford grumble; “Where _ is _ Godfrey, for Heaven’s sake…”

Where indeed. 

The charred and lifeless body of Cyrus Godfrey is found later that morning among the wreckage of the warehouse Livesey took the trapped boy from. His skin is burned and blackened, the corpse identifiable only from that gaudy ring on his right hand. A rumour swiftly goes around that he was trying to loot items of worth while everyone was distracted. 

Nobody is hugely surprised, or sympathetic, when the ring goes missing by midday, along with the entire finger it once sat on.

* * *

Much later than  _ that, _ they’re back at the Radleys for a well overdue wash (her bathwater is the most alarming colour when she drains it away) and a rest. A missive arrives after them with one of the governor’s men, saying that a ship bound for Barbados will depart that evening, to ask for a merchant sailor by the name of Captain Lenton, all by order of Governor Archibald Ponsford.

“What did you say to him?!” Silver demands, half annoyed, half reluctantly amused.

“I was perfectly civil,” She replies, “I don’t know what you mean.” She accidentally catches Radley’s eye. He smiles - though he doesn’t know the half of it, she realises.

The rest of the day goes all too quickly for her liking, as the sun begins to dip into the west and she takes a moment to step out into Radley’s medicinal garden. She’s dreading getting back on a ship, especially when here she feels so grounded.

“Well, don’t you look comfortable.”

She turns to see a now cleaned up Silver coming down the veranda steps towards her, shoving something quickly into his pocket. The cut on his forehead is beginning to heal, the green and yellow bruising making it look more grim than it really is. 

“I will miss this, a little.” She admits. “I didn't think I would. But this proves that one can live comfortably in this part of the world.”

“I could always leave you here.” When she looks at him quizzically he adds, “I’m serious! All above board this time, no tricky business.”

She scoffs to cover her sudden discomfort. “Not with that governor. I think he’s pleased to see the back of me. No, we need to continue. For Jim’s sake. Besides, I can’t possibly impose any longer on the Radleys.”   


Silver tugs a leaf off the nearest plant and starts to idly shred it between his fingers. “See, I don’t think he’d see it as an imposition.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t possibly be that clueless.” Silver replies, but not unkindly. He smirks, but it’s more knowing than anything bitter.

“There you are!” Radley calls from the veranda. “Getting one last look, Doctor?”

“A deeply envious one.” She sighs. “Is it time?”

He nods. “It is. We’ll walk down with you.”

She takes one last look around the garden, trying to commit as much to it to memory as she can. There’s a trace of panic in her stomach as she takes it in one last time, as if she’s scared she’ll miss something. 

Like the day itself, this walk goes far too fast (hastened by Silver, who is unable to conceal how impatient he is to get going again). Truth be told, Livesey’s rather sorry to leave, not least for the sinking feeling she gets upon spotting the open ocean once more.

They soon locate Captain Lenton, who is polite enough to her and looks Silver up and down with a strong degree of suspicion, but his behaviours very much suggest that he is only doing this because he’s under orders.

Here they make their farewells, Claribel grants her a quick but tight hug, and Radley gestures for her to wait a moment; “This,” He eases the satchel off his shoulder and passes it carefully to her, “is for you.”

Livesey opens the flap to see at least two dozen small glass bottles inside, medicine bottles, each padded with rags to keep them from knocking together.

“That’s a decent supply, it should keep you going for the rest of your adventure.” Radley says, pointing to each in turn. “For fevers, for joints, sickness… it’s all labelled.”

She looks up in awe, “I can’t accept this, it must be at least half your reserves!”

“Yes you can.” Radley says firmly. “From one medical man to another. I just hope you don’t have to use it.”

That’s always the way. She accepts, hooking the strap over her shoulder. “Thank you!”

Radley looks as if he’s about to say something else, but hesitates, looking around like he’s checking for something. Their company have wandered off, distracted, so Radley gently steers her away by her shoulder and suddenly looks very serious. 

“Listen. I need to tell you something before you leave. I want to warn you.” He seems to choose his next words with care, “I saw Godfrey’s body just before they took it away, and it… it wasn’t the fire that killed him.”

She looks up sharply. “What do you mean?” 

Radley casts another quick look about him. “I mean there were knife wounds all over his chest, under all the burns.”

Livesey shrugs uneasily, “I got the idea nobody liked him.”   


“That’s true. But I have to wonder who’d dare to…” He pauses, looking grave, “Livesey, you should have seen these wounds. Someone  _ really _ wanted him dead and they weren’t about to leave it to chance.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“There are options - as you said, he wasn’t popular. But for the sheer guts to actually _ do _ it…” He trails off and looks briefly towards where Silver is chatting to Claribel. “Look, for a quiet life, I can tolerate John Silver. One day I might even like him. But don’t mistake me. I do not trust him. I don’t think you should either.”

“I’ve known that-” Livesey starts, hoisting the bag back up her shoulder, but Radley shakes his head.

“Yes, but…” He sighs, searching for the right words. “This is a very dangerous journey you’re taking, Doctor Livesey, but the greatest danger is the one closest to you.”

“‘You coming then?”

They both jump at the shout and Livesey looks around to see Silver watching them carefully.

Radley recovers first, moving to shake Silver’s hand firmly. “Mr Silver. All the best of luck. And Doctor Livesey-” He turns to shake her hand. “If you ever tire of Scotland’s unkind climate, you would be more than welcome back here.” He raises her hand and kisses the back of it. It’s quick and chaste and he’s released it before she fully realises what’s happened. 

By that time, Radley’s collected Claribel, taking his daughter’s arm protectively. The two of them stand back as Livesey steps from the jetty into the waiting jolly boat and they suddenly look very small against the backdrop of the island, this place where, like her, they will never fully belong.

“Well, goodbye then.” She says, trying to sound airy and unruffled. “Thank you both, for everything.”

“Take care, Doctor.” It’s a loaded remark, she knows this as she looks back. It’s a warning and a salutation and an acceptance that they will likely never meet again.

For a second, she wonders if she should stay. One foot back on the dock, there’s  _ time... _

She  _ could. _ Put an end to all of this.

But then again, in the grand scheme of her life, it’s only one second.

“Goodbye Mr Radley.”

She sits with her back to the land and her face to the sea, so she does not have to watch her friends disappear from view. She sits beside the man who, to her disquiet, has become a surprising constant in this part of her life and she thinks back over Radley’s words, his admission that trust towards Long John Silver was never going to be forthcoming. 

She wonders how it will end. If disease or fire or the sea do not claim her first. Or fatal wounds, like Godfrey’s. The options are limited and absolute, but it feels like they’re all creeping towards her. One of them must reach her first, she realises. Livesey can’t outrun them all forever.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows she’s completely useless here. Trapped on this ship in the middle of the endless water, as the shadow in the distance gets nearer and nearer.

They’re soon aboard Lenton’s ship, and the next leg of their journey begins. As Nevis shrinks into a speck on the horizon behind them, Livesey tries to think logically about their next step. 

However it’s very difficult to be introspective when one's last meal is already threatening to make a reappearance. Their brief interlude on land has not cured her seasickness.

She attempts to distract herself by interrogating Silver. Being back at sea has shaken off the dark melancholy that seems to follow him around on land. Another example of their opposites, she thinks.

“How  _ did _ you get them on your side?” She asks. They’re both stood at the ship’s edge, Silver lounging casually, his back against the railing, Livesey trying to take deep, steadying breaths to fight back the nausea. To give him some credit, Ponsford has at least found them places where they are not required to work their passage. “To get them to do what you told them during the fire?”

“I had two days to make a lot of friends. I worked hard.” He glances sideways at her, squinting against the sun. “Impressed?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She confesses, and it’s rather amusing to see the puzzled look that suddenly crosses his face at this admission.

A fresh breeze picks up and the sails above crack in relish of it. This ship is new, she can tell at least that by the state of it. It’s yet to gain the scars of a ship more acquainted with the sea. 

They’re largely ignored by the rest of the crew and when Lenton walks by he still casts them a suspicious glare. It would be understandable for him to be wary of Silver and his intimidating countenance, but she wonders if Governor Ponsford has warned the man to be frightened of  _ her. _

“Bit different to the Emilia, then.” Silver remarks, as another crewman hurries by without acknowledging them. He drums his fingers aimlessly, his head quirking with some kind of pent up energy. “I need something to do.”

_ The devil shall find you occupation.  _ Livesey’s mother used to say that when she found her daughter’s embroidery abandoned in the corner. Back when the devil was more of a concept than a true threat, back before she had ever felt the waves tip the floor beneath her feet.

“Yes, we were both kept busy.” She concedes.

Silver grunts in agreement. “I liked that crew. Spent half the ruddy voyage over trying to convince young Henrik that you weren’t secretly my wife, but still, liked it.” He rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, I think he just liked a whiff of scandal even where there were none.” He looks up at the sails and mulls something over. “‘Ere, why didn’t you ever get married?” He asks, leaning over irritatingly. “Lack of offers? Or never fancied it?”

She’s had offers, though she occasionally wishes she hadn’t. Things would be far easier. She looks down at her hands. “I’ve just never felt… compelled.”

“With… men?” Silver asks, awkwardly.

“With... with anyone.” When others talked of attraction and romance, it had seemed like a foreign language to her. She’d studied the faces of men and women alike, and whilst she could appreciate a handsome face and a ready wit, it began and ended there. When she was younger she’d wondered if there was something wrong with her, an unequal humor in her prompting her disinterest. But then time had passed, and her life had been filled with learning and good friends and strange and unexpected adventures. She’d been content and never felt like anything was missing, until someone inevitably mentioned her lack of husband. But even that had become rarer, and easier and easier to shake off with time.

Silver nods and for once does not seem set to argue. “So staying in Nevis…”

_ In Nevis  _ directly translates to  _ with Radley. _ For a second, one second, she’d entertained the notion of a life that passed as acceptable to outsiders. It had been right there for the taking, held up in a frame for her to see.  _ You can have this.  _ They had so much in common and she’d been unexpectedly content. Ultimately, it had been good to have an ally, but... “It wouldn’t have been fair. Or honest.”

“Fairness and honesty are two very overrated traits.” Silver declares. “So what’ll you do? I’m curious now, how will it end for you?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” She says. “I try not to think that far ahead. In this world there are only so many options for unmarried women.” And then, because she can’t resist; “I’m sailing uncharted waters.”

“Ah yes, ‘here be dragons’.” He flourishes his hand to the phrase.

“Well, it _ would  _ liven things up, I can’t deny it, pack in this doctoring and become a regular Saint George...”

He deigns to laugh at that, an action that seems to surprise even him.

“What about you?” She asks. The laughter dies and she braces herself.

“What  _ about  _ me?” He says, warily.

Careful. Be careful. “If I hadn’t been at the Bell and Crown that night. Hadn’t followed you. What would you have done?”

“Maybe this. Just a little bit slower.” His expression hardens, “The world’s starting to catch up with me. The name ‘Long John Silver’ isn’t what it was.”

Hm. “So how does it end for him?”

“If there were any justice, it would’ve ended five years ago.” He turns to stare out to sea. “Don’t act like you disagree.”

Her own condition saves her from answering. She retches, clapping a hand over her mouth and Silver looks at her with deep disdain.

“I thought we’d grown out of this?”

“Shut up...” She groans.

“Oh, man up Livesey!” He cackles, “The world’s going to throw worse at you than this!”

He keeps promising that, and damn it all, he’s been right so far.

_ “SAAAAAAIL!”  _ The cry goes up from the lookout before she can respond and the atmosphere onboard shifts. Silver himself is suddenly severe, his mirth at her discomfort cut short. He limps across the ship to where one of the crew is studying the horizon with a telescope.

“Give me that.” Silver snatches the instrument and looks himself. He stands perfectly still, but she watches his brow furrow as he takes in the sight beyond.

“Do you know it?” Livesey asks quietly as he lowers the glass.

“Not sure - yet.” He replies. “But they’re definitely flying the black.”   
  
Pirates. Cold dread brews in her heart. “Can we outrun them?”

Silver looks across the ship, running calculations in his head. “Likely not. They’ll try though. Where’s Lenton?” He departs without waiting for an answer, heading directly for the captain where he’s stood at the bridge, giving orders to the cluster of crewmen around him. He dismisses them as they approach. “Yes?”

Silver wastes no words. “Listen - if that ship catches up, you have to surrender.”

Incredulous, Lenton forces a pompous guffaw. “Never, sir! I am an Englishman, and no coward!”

“Look,” Silver growls, pointing back, “It’s flying a black flag. That means if you resist, they will kill you. All of you. Slow and painful, like. If you surrender, they’ll rob you blind, but let you leave with your miserable life. It’s your choice.”

Lenton’s image of courage deserts him and his face falls as he looks past the both of them. Even now the ship is noticeably nearer. He swallows hard. “Very well,” he says reluctantly, his voice trembling and low. “But there is not to be one whisper of surrender until I give the order. Madam-” He starts as she goes to leave.

She tries not to roll her eyes. “Doctor.”

He huffs. “Doctor - you may be the only woman aboard, but do not fear. On my honour, you shall be defended.”

“I appreciate the concern, Captain,” She quips, “But I’m quite accustomed to defending myself. You’ve got more pressing matters to worry about.”

Time suddenly seems to have picked up its pace. She finds a spot where she’s out of the way of the running, shouting crewmen, all hands to their stations, and paces back and forth for lack of anything else to do. She knows she’s completely useless here. Trapped on this ship in the middle of the endless water, as the shadow in the distance gets nearer and nearer.

She can begin to pick out details as it approaches them (Lenton’s men are putting everything behind their ship, but the pirate vessel is simply swifter than they can ever be). It’s a fine looking thing, a proud three-masted creature, with its black flag flying strong. She (slightly forcefully) borrows a spyglass again from one of the crew and can just make out the details it bears - it looks like a set of scales, flanked with a crude rendition of an hourglass and a cutlass.

“Whose is that?” She calls back over her shoulder.

Silver is there, of course, and swipes the glass from her hands. She watches as he focuses, his face screwed in concentration, before falling into a dread-filled grimace. _“Seymour.”_ He growls, loading a startling measure of venom into two syllables, but does not explain.

Then suddenly there’s a noise - a cannon shot falls a yard or so short of the port side of the ship, careering into the water with a messy splash.

Silver watches it sink with an unsettling seriousness. “Yeah, if they wanted to hit us, that would’ve.”

Livesey stares too at the spot on the water. Behind them the deck has fallen silent, the air thick with undeniable fear. “A warning?” There’s no response - Silver’s gone again, chasing down Lenton once more.

“Surrender.” She hears him hiss, as she hurries to join them, “Before there’s no time.”

Lenton fidgets, his face drawn and anxious. “Fine. Fine!” He snaps, his voice pitching and whining.

“And get everyone above.”

_ “FINE!!!” _

The order is given and any protests from the men (young, stroppy, headstrong and ignorant) are quickly silenced by Silver enquiring as to whether they want to die today.

“You’ll be fine.” Silver says quietly to Livesey as they watch the white flag run up the line. “They’ll just take anything they can sell and leave us all here. We’re close enough to make it the rest of the way to Barbados. But if they  _ do  _ decide to turn, you’ll need to be ready for them.” He glances back at her. “Where’s that knife I gave you?”   


“I lost it.” She says quickly.

Silver rolls his eyes. “Brilliant.”

But then there’s no time left to argue, as the pirate vessel draws up alongside them. Ropes and lines are flung across, drawing the ships together and suddenly they’re there - the pirates. The boarding party are mostly masked, with scarves and wraps hiding their faces. Each and every one is armed to the hilt, pistols and blades hanging from their sides. The silence that falls feels unnatural, the smell of tar and gunpowder hanging in the air like an omen.

Their leader is a stocky man, veiled in a faded blue scarf, but he radiates authority - their quartermaster, she thinks. The others step aside, making way for him as he crosses to their ship. 

“Where is your captain?” He shouts. This is clearly far from the first time he has done this.

Lenton steps forward, his hands fidgeting even more animatedly. He looks as if he may start jigging from pure nerves at any moment.

The rest of them are herded together like sheep, made to sit in the centre of the deck as the pirates swarm over the ship.The manifest is produced and Livesey watches as barrels and crates are taken from below - their supplies as well as the ship’s merchandise. Water. Food. Drink. They’re quick and efficient, and before Livesey can catch herself, she feels a little impressed. But it makes sense - for the biggest prize and the quickest getaway. A few of the pirates stand guard. One of them seems to enjoy teasing one of the captured crew by lurching towards him and catching himself at the last minute - a gutteral cackle can be heard from the mischievous invader. 

Silver has vanished again and Livesey wonders how he knows this mysterious Seymour. However it must be, it cannot be good.

Eventually the stream of cargo trickles to nothing, but the pirates do not leave. Their leader casts a careful eye over their captive crowd. If Livesey did not know any better she’d think he was looking for someone, and quickly averts her eyes as he looks at her.

“Is this everyone?” She hears him ask Lenton. “Don’t lie to me.”

Lenton stammers something out that sounds like an affirmative, but the pirate still doesn’t budge.

“I said,” There’s a priming  _ click _ and suddenly a pistol is at Lenton’s brow. “Is. This. Everyone?”

Lenton’s jaw drops and he starts to stammer; “I - I- we-”

The pirate leader adjusts his stance, pressing the metal firm into Lenton’s skin. “You have five seconds to tell me the truth, or I decorate this deck with your brains. Five. Four. Three. Two-”

“There’s one more!” Livesey blurts out. 

It’s met with a stony silence and several seconds of stillness before the pirate lowers his gun. “Who?”

“A passenger,” She is deliberately vague. “Like myself.”

The pirate nods. “A man?”

This seems to mean something, but Livesey’s lost as to  _ what _ , exactly. “...Yes.”

“Aye, I see.” The pirate turns to two of his comrades. “Go below. Find him. Captain’s orders.”

They nod and are away, disappearing into the dark. They do not take long. There’s the sound of a scuffle below, several loud bangs and crashes, and then they emerge - one bleeding from the nose, another a cut cheek and Silver slung between them, desperately trying to wiggle free.

Now they’re satisfied. “Thank you.” The pirate quartermaster says, bowing to her. “You’ve been very helpful.”

The look Silver gives her now as he works it all out in an instant is one of deepest loathing, a barely contained fury that chills her to the core. She has made some terrible misstep, but she’s not entirely sure how.

With half a dozen pistols trained on him, Silver is encouraged across the narrow walkway set up between the two vessels. He’s not stupid enough to try some wild stunt with these odds. 

“You too.” Livesey flinches, realising the pirate leader is looking at her. “Come on.”

“Me?” She stares back at him. “Why?”

“Orders.” The pirate replies casually. “Come on. Up.”

She clambers from the cluster of sailors, and the pirate quartermaster takes her by the shoulder, pushing her towards the edge of the ship.

She shakes herself free with a start; “I’m a doctor, sir.” It’s a card to play, so she might as well set it down now. “Might I at least fetch my things?”

The pirate looks at her coolly. “Very well. Be quick.” He nods a direction, and another pirate - a woman! whose colouring suggests she hails from some land far, far east of England - follows her as she heads inside. 

How she wishes she had that knife still, she thinks as she heads to her tiny cabin, heart pounding. There’s her scalpel, true, but it’s good and safe deep inside her duffle. She’ll barely have time to reach it before this pirate cuts her down with the fine looking cutlass in her grip, a weapon the woman carries like it is nothing more than a walking cane. Livesey glances back over her shoulder as she fetches her things. The pirate woman is stood at the door and seems in no hurry.  _ It’s all a game to her, _ Livesey thinks, carefully hooking her satchel of concoctions from Radley over one shoulder.  _ An amusement. _

“What do you want from me?” Livesey dares ask. “I’m entitled to know that, at least.” Why have they been taken? On a ship full of expensive goods, why take two untitled passengers captive?

“Captain’s orders.” The woman echoes in accented English. She’s masked too, but Livesey could swear the woman is smirking beneath it.

“Then what does your _ captain _ want?” Livesey sneers, hooking her other arm through the strap of the duffel, but the woman just gestures to the door as if to say  _ after you. _

They reemerge onto the deck. As a last resort she looks desperately to Lenton. His face is pale and sweating, his whole bearing tense. He sees her looking at him and recoils like he’s been struck.

“Go!” He barks, his voice cracking. “You’re what they want, be gone with you, damn woman!”

So much for being defended. Livesey gives him a look that she hopes fully conveys what a disgrace of an Englishman Lenton is, and turns away.

Her feet carry her forward to the walkway without her paying them much mind. Legs shaking, she takes short, staggering steps across - it feels like it takes an eternity, and the water below churns menacingly. The wood creaks with every step and her mind races with speculations, envisioning the path giving way beneath her and sending her plummeting to the depths. A drowning death for Doctor Livesey would be a cruel one indeed.

But somehow she reaches the other end and her knees almost give out in relief as she stumbles onto the pirate deck. It’s a relief that’s short lived though as she looks up at them all - they’re everywhere. Crowding the deck, festooned on the rigging like birds in trees. They surround her at every side, all clearly stronger and tougher than she will ever be. Half of them are masked too.

It’s quiet. She always thought it’d be noisier. She can hear her blood rushing in her ears in this thick silence, heart beating hard.

They’re all  _ looking  _ at the two of them - surely any minute now they’ll strike, she thinks, tear them apart. She turns to Silver again - for reassurance? Comfort? It’s absurd - but he’s looking… up? She follows where he’s looking to see a dark skinned man perched halfway up the rigging, watching them, his eyes intense and his face unmasked, yet unreadable.

“What is it?” She realises she’s whispering and it seems strangely comical.

“I know him.” Silver has time to mutter, before being pulled roughly aside. 

And suddenly the tension breaks and everything is activity. The crew all seem to move at once in different directions, and in a second someone has struck Silver across the back of the head, knocking him to the floor.

Livesey’s stomach drops. “What are you doing?” She cries, as four of them wrestle Silver to the floor “we came willingly!” She watches as they tear his coat from his shoulders and start unloading a frankly staggering number of weapons from inside his pockets. They seem to  _ know, _ instinctively, that he’s armed. Did the man on the rigging tell them? Did he remember that he knew him as well? Does this Seymour character know? When Silver tries to strike at them, he gains another hard punch for his troubles.

“Stop-” She sets down her luggage and starts forward, but is grabbed from behind, her arms locked behind her.

“Calm down now.” The quartermaster hisses in her ear. His grip is strong, but not painful, however the smell of his breath on her cheek is deeply repellant. “If you resist, I’ll have to hurt you. But be calm. You’re safe. I promise you.”

“Who are you?” She snarls. She pulls at her limbs, but to no avail.

The quartermaster is calm, but firm, “Someone who means you no harm, that’s the truth. Now stop struggling, or I’ll break both your arms.”

She must obey. She stills and watches as Silver is dragged away. Only when he is out of sight does the quartermaster release her.

Livesey rubs absently at her freed limbs, all manner of tortures flashing through her mind.“What are you going to do with him?”

“Put him somewhere where he can’t cause any more trouble.” The pirate grumbles. “But he’s safe too, I assure you. For now.”

Perhaps the name Long John Silver carries a little more weight than its owner thought. But there isn’t time to ruminate on that. She turns on her heel to face the pirate. “I want to speak to your captain.” She demands, her anger making her bold.

The quartermaster blinks at her. “Well that’s damned convenient. Captain wants to speak to you.” He looks at her like he’s torn halfway between laughing and not. “Come with me.”

She follows him as he heads back inside and down the narrow hallways. She takes no notice of them, her mind already running through all her options. They’re limited. But she has to do  _ something.  _ Drop us off at Barbados, we’ve made it before, we’ll make it again -

Us. We. That’s come about all too quietly.

The further they go inside, the more the nerves claw at her heart. Bargaining with a dangerous pirate captain? This is Silver’s game, not hers. What should she say? It is bound to be a clever fellow, not one bit like that fool Ponsford. She won’t be able to gamble with reputations and stations. This pirate captain will care for none of that.

They reach a set of double doors. The quartermaster knocks and pushes one door open just far enough to stick his head through. “The doctor for you, cap’n.” Then he laughs in response to something. “Yeah, I know, I know. Alright.” He glances back at Livesey. “She’s ready for you.”

Livesey has just enough time to pick up on and question  _ she? _ before the door swings open before her and sat at the captain’s desk is none other than Jim Hawkins.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What had she expected, she wonders. That same, scrawny girl with one ill-fated voyage under her belt? If Livesey is honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted to find that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry I didn't respond to comments on the last chapter but it has been quite A Week.

For a moment, Doctor Livesey just stands there and stares, all plans, speeches and bargains totally forgotten. 

Just… stares. 

It’s all she can do.

It’s  _ Jim.  _ The pirate captain whose orders bought them aboard is Jim.

It’s Jim, and Jim is - there is no better word for it -  _ transformed _ . She’s grown into a capable looking young woman in their time apart, her shoulders thrown back and her chin up. She’s grown no taller, but certainly stronger - she stands solid, the sea, this  _ life _ , has made her strong. She’s dressed in a seafarer’s coat, her dark hair pulled back from her face, and she does not look surprised at all to see Livesey. 

Jim smiles apologetically, skirting around the desk. “Hello Doctor.”

Wordlessly, Livesey crosses the room and pulls Jim firmly into a hug. Jim doesn’t protest, and for a moment they both just stand there in silence.

She’s found her. She’s  _ alive. _

“Oh, it makes  _ sense _ now.” Livesey declares, releasing the young captain.

“Why we took you from the ship?” Jim smiles a little sheepishly. “We’d always planned - your ship was too rich to pass up. And then I thought I saw you through the telescope, but I couldn’t be sure - so I went along with it, to  _ be _ sure. I nearly didn’t recognise you. What were you doing there? How did you get here? Why aren’t you in Scotland? Why aren’t you being sick? Are you well?!”

“One question at a time, I think!” Livesey laughs, feeling more than a little lightheaded. She’s become used to her own sunburn and collection of new injuries, but they must make her just as changed as Jim.

“No, there are too many!” Jim insists, rocking back on her heels with glee.

“Well I have one for you,” She curtails this quickly; “How on Earth did you come to be a pirate captain?!”

“I’m not, really - not properly - it’s a long story.” Jim presses her hands together as she attempts an explanation, and the mere sight of the action, such a recognisably  _ Jim _ action that she’s obviously never grown out of, soothes Livesey’s frazzled nerves beyond measure. “The important thing is, I’m glad it  _ is _ you, because I really need your help - will you help me?”

“Of course.” It’s unquestionable, even though she’s still reeling - Jim! Is here! Is the captain!

“This way.” Jim mutters. She goes haring off towards a door off the side of the office. Livesey follows. The room the door leads to is far less impressive than the office, and smaller too, mainly taken up by a single bunk, which is currently occupied.

It’s a woman, perhaps around forty to forty-five years of age. Now, she  _ is _ a proper pirate. Her skin has been tanned dark and leathery by the sun over the years and is seamed with long-healed scars. Her hair is tightly braided and intricate inked designs creep up her arms and emerge from the collar of her voluminous white shirt. Around her neck hangs a heavily jeweled crucifix. She’s unconscious, locked in some kind of fever, her skin worryingly hot to the touch, her eyes closed and motionless, her breathing uneven.

“She’s been like that for three days.” Jim says nervously, as Livesey carefully takes the woman’s wrist. “The fever just won’t break.”

“Who is she?” The pattern of that pulse is not reassuring.

“This is Captain Seymour.” Jim says, “ _ She _ is the real captain. And she saved my life.” When Livesey doesn’t respond, Jim asks; “Is there anything you can do?”

She can certainly try. There are her medicines from Nevis, wrapped in their layers of protective cloth. Something in there might help, despite her creeping reluctance to actually utilise them, now it comes down to it. There’s the sentiment attached to them that this is her final link to Radley. But that’s all it is. Sentiment. She is a doctor, after all. “Yes.” She says. “Yes, I think I can help her.”

She gets to her feet and returns to where she’d dropped her luggage in surprise, quickly transferring both to this tiny cabin. Jim hangs back, loitering in the doorway as Livesey rummages through her things.

The doctor selects a vial and squints at it in the low light. “How did you meet? Did she attack  _ The Cormorant _ ?”

Jim scoffs derisively at the mention of the ship. “ _ The Cormorant’s _ long gone. We hit this storm less than a week out of Bristol, a real ship killer. She was damaged so badly she could barely float. We were drifting and running out of rations for nearly a week before Captain Seymour’s crew spotted us. She offered us the chance to join and serve on her crew. It was that or be left to die.”

Livesey presses the back of her hand to Seymour’s brow. “So you turned pirate.”

Jim flushes, shoulders hitching, “Well - yes - but it wasn’t just me, the bosun from  _ The Cormorant _ , he-”

“Jim.” Livesey says, before poor Jim ties herself in knots. This bosun must have been the fellow Silver recognised -  _ sound, _ he’d once described him as, so that’s something at least. “It’s alright. I understand. You didn’t have much of a choice.” She turns back to her bags and rummages through.

“What would Grandma say?” Jim muses wryly.

Livesey feels a little amused at this. Some things don’t change. “She’d be glad you were safe.” This bottle looks promising.  _ Thank you, Radley. _

“I think she’s the sort of person Grandma might have liked.” Jim adds determinedly, “She’s very bold, but she’s fair.”

The idea of Mrs Hawkins taking a liking to any pirate is a very entertaining one, but Livesey won’t disagree. “She’d like anyone who’d helped you.”

“That’s why she always liked you so much.”

A pang of guilt stabs in Livesey’s gut. “I met your new landlady.” She says, quickly changing the subject.

“Sarah!” Jim cries out in delight. “How is she? And Tom, is he alright? And the little one?”

“All well. All worried about you. As was I.” She straightens up. “We’ll wait a bit - see if that has any effect.”

“And… if it doesn’t?”   
  
“Then there are other things I can try.” She sighs and looks back at Jim. “It is good to see you again, Jim. I was starting to think we’d never find you.”   
  
Jim frowns. “So you came out here looking for me?”

Tired, she still smiles. “I did.”

But Jim’s frown suddenly deepens and her voice cracks a little in annoyance, “What, did you think I couldn’t do this by myself? That I needed some  _ grown up _ to tell me what to do, that - that I was some weak and feeble little  _ girl…” _

Livesey’s smile drops. “Wait, no, I didn-”

Jim turns away, striding back into the office. “I can look after myself, Doctor! I have done for years - all these years! And you never came after me before.”

“You’re right.” Livesey admits sheepishly, following her. “I know you can.”

Jim turns on her heel, flushed with anger. “So what are you going to do now, drag me home in disgrace? I’m not a child anymore.”

“No, of course not! I mean…” She gestures, desperate. “I was frightened, Jim! I was frightened that something terrible had happened to you. That’s why I came out looking for you. Your letters stopped.” She finishes feebly.

Jim shoves her hands in her coat pockets. “I  _ can _ do this.” She grumbles in protest, half to herself, if anything.

“Yes.” Livesey agrees. “You can.”

Jim returns to the desk, flopping inelegantly into the chair, all messy limbs. “I’ve been away for longer than I thought.” She admits. “I was always going to come back though. That was always my plan.” Jim looks away suddenly. “And then - then things changed.” Her anger hasn’t fully dissipated - not yet.

So Livesey takes her next step carefully. “With Captain Seymour?”

Jim nods. “And…”

Ah. “I assume you know about Long John Silver.”

There’s a long, heavy silence. When Jim speaks again her voice seems altered. Older, yet younger at the same time. And very tired. “I thought he was dead.” She says down to her hands. “That I’d never see him again. I’d got used to that.” She glances back at Livesey. “Did you know he was alive?”

“For many years, I didn’t. Then last year he turned up in Edinburgh. That was the first I knew of it, I swear on my soul.” She sits heavily onto a nearby bench, shoved against the wall. “I wasn’t certain what to do. Part of me planned to turn him into the authorities. But that all came to naught. He escaped before I could do anything.”

Jim idly picks at her thumbnail. “Did you think he’d come for me?”

_Capable of anything._ It still echoes in her head. “It was an option. That was my reason for returning to Black Cove. When I discovered that you’d gone off to sea, that changed things.”

“But you travelled... together?” Jim’s tone is laced with disbelief, which is understandable.

“I encountered him again halfway.” And it feels a  _ lifetime _ ago. “He’d gone to the cove too, looking for you and was as surprised as I was to find you gone. We reached an agreement. We both have skills the other lacks.” She leans forward, placing her head in her hands. “Honestly,” She mumbles, “I don’t think I would have made it this far without him.”

Jim doesn’t reply.

Eventually, with a great inhale, Livesey wrenches her head from her hand and sits up, looking blearily at the young captain. “For what it’s worth, he was using your name when I found him.”

Jim looks stung. “He... was?” Thoughtful, she gets to her feet, heading for one of the windows behind her chair. She unlatches one and leans out, looking up, like she’s looking for something. “I saw him through the telescope as well. Thought I was dreaming. Never thought you two could ever work together.”

“Yes, it’s been an experience.” Livesey remarks dryly. “One I could have done without.” There are faint bruises still between her shoulders and a fresh scar under her jaw, but more than that there are the convoluted thoughts that chase each other around her head when she fails to distract herself otherwise. Honestly she’d take a thousand more hurts over those. “He knows how to get in my head and make me worry about… about what he might have done to you. On the island.” She looks at Jim and hopes she understands - Livesey doesn’t want to put words to it for both their sakes.

Jim stares back for a while. “He kissed me.” She eventually says, but her voice is steady and she doesn’t look away. “That’s it.”

There’s another long, long silence, until Livesey shakes her head ruefully. “I knew it, I knew it, when I get to him-”

“It was only once!” Jim blurts out in rapid defence; “It was all those years ago, it meant  _ nothing!” _

“It was - he was…” Livesey fumes. “You were too young for that. And him - he  _ knew _ full well, and I should never have let you go about with him like I did, and someone should have said  _ something _ because I  _ knew  _ I wasn’t going mad, that he had - had  _ motives _ to that effect and he-”

_ “Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!” _

Livesey blinks, her rant coming to a crashing halt. “Jim.” She says slowly, looking to the flash of blue and yellow now perched proudly on the open window. “What is that.”

Jim tries to look innocent. “....A parrot.”

“Yes I’m aware of that.” Livesey stares at the creature. It  _ can’t _ be the same one - after all these years - yet the cadence of its cry is identical...

“It’s… Flint.” Jim explains sheepishly. She extends an arm and Flint the parrot obligingly flutters into place, fixing Livesey with it’s beady little eye.

Livesey looks right back at the thing, not trusting it enough to turn her back on it for a second. “I thought we had left it behind.” Assumed it had gone feral, divided from its master and gone to seek its own kind.

“We stopped off on some other island a few days ago for fresh water. I was exploring and um, there it was. It must have hitched a ride on a passing ship - it recognised me.” Jim gently scratches the bird’s neck and the creature leans into her touch, clearly enjoying it - if it was a cat, Livesey could swear it’d be purring.

“It’s mine now.” Jim says, with something that sounds akin to pride.

Livesey is struck with the strangest sense that she doesn’t know this young woman at all - Jim Hawkins, acting pirate captain, with her strength and her avian familiar, is someone quite new. What had she expected, she wonders. That same, scrawny girl with one ill-fated voyage under her belt? If Livesey is honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted to find that.

She persists, although this distraction has temporarily diverted her attention; “What are you going to do about Silver?”

“He’s in the brig.” Jim continues to pet the preening bird. “Not sure what I want to do. Don’t tell him I’m here. I don’t want him to know yet.”

Livesey nods. “I won’t, I swear.”

Jim takes a breath, her mouth a firm, set line. “I wasn’t as ready last time.”

Content with its affection, the bird takes flight, flapping noisily over Livesey’s head. She ducks, and the bird lets out a staccato rattling caw like laughter.

“Very well.” Livesey says carefully, checking above to make sure Flint is safely across the room. “I think that’s wise. Turn him out when you next make port. You don’t have to see him, nor he you. Your quartermaster could throw him off ship and ensure he doesn’t get back on.”

Jim frowns to herself. “Is that what you think I should do? Let him walk free and not run him through?”

It’s sorely tempting, especially considering what she knows now. But just? She hates to admit it, but no - it wouldn’t be so. “Where is your next heading?”

“America. The gulf.” She gestures a direction, curling her hand into a pointing motion. “There’s a smuggler’s stronghold on the coast of French Louisiana. Captain Seymour planned to split the spoils there and give us _ Cormorant  _ crew the opportunity to make our own way home. After that, she said she’d take me back to England.”

Livesey looks fondly at her. “Good. Sarah will be relieved to know you’re safe. We must get you home again.”

Jim ducks her head, the way she always would when faced with an interaction she wasn’t certain of. But she’s smiling when she looks back up. “I am glad you’re here, Doctor. Honest.”

Finally,  _ finally, _ Livesey allows the knot in her stomach to loosen and some of that tension to flow from her shoulders. It’s over. The difficult part is  _ over.  _ “As am I.”

Jim hops up from her seat and goes to a nearby cupboard, retrieving a bottle of something a rich, mahogany colour and two tumblers. “I bet you’ve got some new stories since I last saw you.” Her voice is still a little wobbly, a little unsure. But Jim Hawkins is trying, so Doctor Livesey will too.

Whatever’s in that bottle, the doctor thinks, she needs it. “One or two - even featuring our mutual accomplice. Bit more.” She mutters as Jim goes to right the bottle from the cup. “Also,” She adds, lightly, “everyone keeps assuming we’re married, which is deeply vexing.”

“Are you?” Jim asks with a wicked little smirk.

“NO.” Livesey groans, but it makes Jim cackle with mirth, so perhaps it’s worth it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The tides are curious things. As much as they divide, they bring back together. You land-folk always act like it’s some great to-do."

A day of revelations like this should, by all rights, tire a person out completely, but again Livesey finds she’s reluctant to turn in, her mind whirring away. She finds she can’t settle anyway, and wants to keep an ear out for her patient. If things don’t improve, she’ll move on to bleeding the sick captain. But the remedy from her dear friend seems to have least settled the pirate.

The rest of the day had been surreal. Jim had introduced her to the pirate officers, most of whom do actually appear to respect, if not at least  _ like _ their diminutive acting captain. The quartermaster, Mr Barden, grins broadly upon seeing Livesey again.

“You knew we knew each other, didn’t you?” Livesey asks wryly, as Barden claps her on the shoulder with a hacking laugh.

“The tides are curious things.” The quartermaster jests. “As much as they divide, they bring back together. You land-folk always act like it’s some great to-do. Nothing more natural.”

(He seems a decent fellow and any rare grumbles from the crew about answering to ‘Seymour’s favourite’ are quelled by a death glare from Barden that is strongly reminiscent of Grandma Hawkins.)

Livesey reserves judgement on Captain Seymour, despite all positive reports. She’s always wary now when someone picks a new young protegee. But Jim is a lot less starry-eyed these days, more cynical, even though this new authority of hers still needs some wearing in. It’s noticeably referred to as ‘the’ ship, never ‘hers’ - unlike that bird, who hangs upside-down from the rigging and seems to be quite a novelty to the crew. Jim has only been loaned this position and she is very aware of it.

Silver is kept locked below, out of sight and untalked of.

It’s late - Heaven knows how late, the hours of the clock have become increasingly irrelevant when life is governed by the sunrise and sunset - when Livesey slips from Jim’s office for some air. The atmosphere on the ship feels different now, although maybe it’s just her. That urgency, that sense of pushing on that has nipped at her heels has vanished - now she has that reassurance that Jim is here, alive and well.

Very well. Despite her awkwardness in the role of captain, Jim wears a seafaring life with a disconcerting level of style.

There was a brightness in Jim’s face as she recounted her stories - stories Livesey is sure Jim has told before, but relishes now being able to tell anew to a friend - of far off places and strange people. Of treasures bought home, patches of rich cloth, small measures of spice that someone has taken pity on her slight build and wide eyes and gifted to her, filling her pockets with worth. Jim has seen sharks and strange fish and far off whales and picked up a rough smattering of languages, French, Spanish, even one or two words of Hindi. There’s a new scar through her eyebrow and another across the palm of her left hand and yet she wears them like prizes.

Livesey smiles to herself and shakes her head. What a thing indeed. Dare she admit, while Nevis bought her great contentment, her current situation has prompted her to be… happy?

By suppertime Jim has made a choice. “I don’t want to see him,” She tells Livesey. They dine with the rest of the crew and the din of talk and debate around them helps cover this more private conversation. “I’ve decided. I don’t want him to know I’m here. When we divide the company I want him off this ship, left behind and then I’m taking you back to England with me.” Jim hesitates. “Although - I - I’m not  _ quite _ sure I want to leave.” She says it with a laugh, but the laugh is forced and Livesey suspects that this jest is in truth nothing of the sort.

“You like it here?”   


She ducks her head, mumbling to her plate. “I like this ship a lot. It’s a good crew - despite, y’know…  _ pirates _ . But they’re different, I swear. And I don’t feel so out of place. I look at Captain Seymour and I don’t feel wrong, or that I have to be one thing or another.” Jim flushes. “Is that mad?”

Livesey has to smile, despite everything. “Not a bit.” Trelawney will be flabbergasted. She can’t wait to tell him.

What a thing.

She emerges onto the deck. This ship,  _ The Midnight Wolf _ , as she was informed earlier, slips smoothly and swiftly through the water beneath the wide sky. The moon half emerges from behind a cloud and she can just about see to make her way around. She won’t go far, she decides. Just far enough to have some space with her thoughts. Then back to her patient.

It takes her only a few seconds to realise she’s not alone. There’s a scrape and a muffled thud nearby that catches her attention. She takes a few further cautious steps - someone is stationed at the other side of the ship, hauling one of the jolly boats into position.

Is she imagining it? She takes another wary step and calls out; “...Silver?”

He whips around to face her - it’s him alright, how did he get out? He flings a finger to his lips, wild-eyed and tense. “Quiet.”

“What are you-” She notes the instruction and drops her voice to a whisper. “What are you doing?”

He turns back to his task, hauling heavily on a rope. “I’m going to Barbados. Getting out of here. One way or another. I’m finding her.” His tone is desperate, his hands distracted and grip haphazard, teeth gritted. “I can’t stay. You don’t know - Seymour is not letting me out of here in one piece.”

Seymour - he still thinks she enters into it. Perhaps Livesey can explain, without bringing Jim into it somehow.

But then, too late, she spots it. A dark trickle of blood running a line across the deck before her. The misshapen lump of a corpse shoved behind the nearby barrels. The watch, she realises, cut down at his post before he could raise the alarm of the  _ Midnight Wolf’s  _ escapee.

Silver has not been released. He has fought his way out. Concern suddenly flares inside her. How many others did he encounter on his way to the deck? How many others lie butchered under the planks beneath her feet?

She’s not armed. She had thought, stupidly thought, that she was safe now, and left her pistol behind in the office.

“Believe me, it will benefit you to stay aboard.” She tries to make her voice level and reasonable, friendly even. She can’t reveal Jim’s presence, but then again she can’t allow Silver to go running off into the dark like this as the waves slap ominously against the side of the hull. Better sailors than he have been lost to these waters. “I am telling you Silver, stay aboard, please!”

He pauses in his toil and stands very still. For one idiot moment, she thinks it’s worked.

“Telling.” He chuckles darkly. “Telling, very nice.” He reaches inside his coat. “Were you planning on  _ telling _ me about this?”

_ A gun, _ she thinks and flinches backwards, but it’s nothing of the sort. 

In his hand instead is a folded paper. It’s crumpled now - from being taken across oceans, shoved in the bottom of her duffel bag, dragged between vessels and ultimately? Forgotten about. 

She’d forgotten all about it. 

But she knows exactly what it is. Even from here, in this light, she can make out Trelawney’s handwriting, the broken wax seal.

For a moment, she stops breathing. Her heart drops.

The warrant.

A gun would have been better.

“What does it say?” Silver says, calmly. 

_ He knows. _

“Where did you get that?” How much time does she have? Enough to raise the alarm? She can’t talk herself out of this. Not with him. 

“Your kit. Had a quick peep when Lenton’s ship was boarded, see if Ponsford had given you anything we could use to bargain.” He glances at the paper. “See, I recognise this crest, it’s your pal Trelawney, isn’t it?”

Of course he remembers. He remembers everything. Livesey cannot speak - her tongue feels like lead.

“Is it about me?” Silver continues, “Orders to bring me back alive, so they can string me up and let justice be done? Is this what you were going to do?” His voice rises to a harsh half-whisper, bitterness biting into every syllable. “Take me along with you just to send me back to the noose?” He affects a high, mocking tone; “‘How does it end for you Silver, how does it end’ -  _ you knew exactly how it would bloody end!” _

How can she begin to explain? It’s not like that, not anymore - things have changed, she’s not the person who left Black Cove, she’s even further from the person who left Edinburgh. She’s torn between loyalties - between Jim, between doing what is  _ right _ \- stuck in some purgatory of her own making. “Long John, listen - you don’t understand.”

“No, no.” He says. “I understand. The good doctor, Diana Livesey, who knows wrong from right and stays respectable, even if none of those stuck up bastards deserve you.” He pauses, slightly out of breath, shaking his head. “You are  _ never _ gonna belong there, do you know that? You will  _ never _ be enough for any of them, get that into your thick, stupid skull! But no, you don’t care do you, as long as justice can be done and me strung up, ohh, you’ve wanted this for years...”

“Things have changed-” Livesey chokes out.

“Not that much.” Silver snaps. “Some things are constant. You’ve had all the time in the world to tell me you had this tucked in your pocket, ready and waiting.”

“I  _ forgot.” _ Even though it’s the truth it sounds feeble, but so much has occurred - Nevis, the fire, Godfrey, finding Jim in the middle of the ocean, a pirate captain of all things - that she  _ had. _

“Right. Of course.” The rage and bluster has died down, but the cold resolve that replaces it is somehow worse. “Funny.” He says, crumpling the paper in one hand and letting it skitter to the floor. “Very funny. Y’know, for a minute there Diana, I was actually considering letting you live.”

Her veins feel like ice as the meaning of his words sink in. She goes to run. That’s a mistake. Silver’s ready for that and lashes out, grabbing her by the back of her shirt and forcing her to the floor. She lands awkwardly on her arm and jarring pain shoots through her shoulder. She cries out as he forces her onto her back, trying to pin her arms down.

He clamps a hand over her mouth and it’s suffocating. “Scream and I’ll put a bullet through your eye.” 

She believes it - but she  _ refuses _ to give up, would truly rather drown than fall by his hand. She lashes out frantically with her arms and legs. She catches him in the mouth with her elbow and in return feels a furious punch connect with the lower half of her face. She tastes blood almost instantly. Even with one leg, he’s still stronger than her.

“You traitor.” She hisses.

He grabs her by the hair and slams her head against the deck. “Pirate.” He corrects her with a snarl.

Her vision swims as her body can’t figure out which pain to focus on first. But through that reeling confusion she feels the cold metal of a blade press against her neck, against that warning scratch he gave her on Nevis. 

He’s going to kill her, and all this time she’s been walking into it.

Hell, she’s practically handed him the knife herself. 

A white hot fury sears through her as she curses him, herself - she should have  _ known, _ even after all this time, that she had always been an expendable element. Men like Silver will burn the whole world down just for one day with the things they want

This.  _ This _ is how it ends. Her usefulness run dry. In one last, desperate attempt, she draws in breath to scream, a warning is all she can do now -

And then something happens.

The end of a sword, sharpened to a thin, shining edge, appears under Silver’s jaw. The cold metal rests lightly under his chin, reflecting the indifferent moon with a gleam.

“Let her go, Long John.” Captain Jim Hawkins says. “I won’t have any more blood spilt on my ship tonight.”

The whole world seems to stop. 

Silver is frozen in place, his eyes unfocused as he struggles to comprehend, as he recognises _that_ voice.

Carefully, Livesey reaches up to her own throat and slowly but firmly pushes his hand away. He does not protest. He does not resist. The knife falls to the deck with a clatter, forgotten. 

Pale as death itself, Long John Silver turns and looks up, into the eyes of the last of his vengeful ghosts.


	15. Chapter 15

“Jim.” It comes out as barely a whisper. He swallows and speaks her name again, louder. “Jim.”

Jim still has the tip of her sword trained on the centre of his chest as he staggers to his feet. “Silver.”

The very night around them seems to be holding its breath in the silence, this ship the central point of everything. 

Some of Livesey’s own blood drips heavily onto her hand. She gathers a chunk of sleeve into her fist in an attempt to mop her battered face.

To Jim and Silver it’s like she’s not even there.

“Look at you.” Silver’s tone is  _ reverent. _ He starts to take a step towards Jim, but a short thrust of the sword between them halts him and he obeys, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Right, right I see...”

“Stay where you are.” Jim’s eyes are fixed on Silver’s face, searching for signs of the man she’d known who’d terrified and entranced her in turns. Life has been much kinder to her in the years between than it has to him, and standing before each other now, that fact is thrown into even sharper relief.

“Well this is fate.” He eventually says, quietly. “Has to be. You and me Jim, written in the stars, we always was. Always knew it. I knew-” Here, of all places, he falters - but it’s only for a moment, as he swiftly recovers and those shutters in his eyes go up again. “You were always going to come back to - to the sea. How’d it happen, eh? Find yourself a captain in need of a good cabin girl?”

Jim grits her teeth. “I  _ am _ the captain. Stay  _ there.” _

Silver’s face breaks into a smile. The shutters crack, if only a little. “Are you?”

Jim looks for a moment like she’ll reply, before thinking better of it. She looks to Livesey. “Are you alright?”

Not one bit. She takes her sleeve away from her face and it’s already stained dark with blood. She tests her jaw for fractures. “I’ll be fine.”

With them both momentarily diverted, Silver suddenly ducks down, and Jim’s attention snaps back to him, ready to strike, but he’s going for the crumpled warrant discarded between them. “You still read?” He asks breathlessly. “My clever girl, of course you do.” He holds the paper outstretched towards her. “Look at this. Read this. Tell Long John what it says.”

“Jim.” Livesey says warningly.

Torn, Jim looks between the two of them. She settles back on Silver. “Keep your hands where I can see them.” She orders him, taking the outstretched warrant from him between the very edges of her fingertips, like it could burn her without due care.

He nods. “Course, course.” He idles, overly casual (though there’s a tightness in his jaw that betrays his uncertainty as to which way this will go), hands splayed aloft as Jim flicks the paper open. Her eyes roam across the paper and Livesey sees a slight frown appear at her brow.

(The sword stays in Jim’s hand and sits easily, ready to strike if he should make one move that she deems unreasonable.)

Silver rolls his eyes. “Out loud Jim, there’s a good girl.”

Jim gives him a dark look, but obliges for the last stretch; _ “...For John Silver to be placed under immediate arrest for crimes against the Crown and Empire and tried in a court of law.” _

Silver almost  _ skips _ in jubilation. “There we go! There we go.  _ That _ was tucked away in your dear Doctor’s bag. All this time. After everything I done for her. Has she told you the whole sorry story? How she tracked me down and  _ begged _ for my help, so scared to death of going back to  _ the sea, the sea!” _ He pitches his voice mockingly, laughing. “And all that time she was planning on sending me down. They’ll have me dancing on the end of the rope. You too, if they hear you're caught up in all this.”

“Jim!” Livesey tries to interject again.

But Silver pushes on as if she hasn’t spoken. “We can’t let that happen. We can’t.” Still he stares at Jim, like she’ll vanish if he dares look away. “God - you’re a sight for sore eyes, make no mistake...”

Jim turns her glare to Livesey. “Squire gave this to you?”

She curses herself again and again for forgetting the damn thing. “Yes.” She practically spits the wretched word. Those disappointments? Those times she’d let Jim down on the island? They are  _ nothing _ compared to this.

“Is there anything  _ else _ you want to tell me?”

“She’s been playing a very long game.” Silver adds, glancing between them.

“Shut up.” Jim says, bitterness biting into her tone. The sword jerks forward again, close enough to snare the threads of his shirt.

Silver obliges, but only for a few seconds. “So.” He says, tilting his raised hands demonstratively. “What  _ are _ we going to do?”

“First,” Jim renews her grip on the sword. “You tell me how many of my men you’ve killed.”

“Just the one.” He replies, too calmly. “Honest truth.”

“Doctor.”

Recognising an order, Livesey scrambles over to the barrels, shoving one aside to fully unveil the corpse of the watch. There’s a knife wound in his back, the first blow, but his life was ended at the throat, sliced open in one, quick, clean, practiced stroke. Her hand goes to her own neck in sympathy. This was what Silver had intended for her too. Her shoulders sag - in disappointment maybe, it’s hard to say - and she reaches out to close the watch’s eyes, wide and stunned at the last.

“If I find anymore,” She hears Jim say to Silver. “I swear… I  _ swear _ I’ll-”

“Captain!” Barden suddenly appears on deck, hurtling out of the nearest door and gasping for breath. “Captain Hawkins! Captain Hawkins, that  _ bast _ -” He stops, stunned, at the sight of Silver. Livesey sees him look between all three of them, baffled, double-taking at Livesey’s bloodied face, before he scrambles for the pistol at his hip. “Captain?”

“It’s alright Mr Barden.” Jim says steadily. “Everything is under control.”

_ Yes, _ Livesey thinks,  _ good, take him away, lock him up, throw him to sharks, do whatever you please- _

She goes for the dropped knife, only to find Jim’s stepped on it, a solid boot blocking Livesey’s hand.

“Mr Barden, take Doctor Livesey to my office. Make sure she stays there.”

Barden half-pulls Livesey to her feet, despite her protests. As she’s pulled firmly back inside, she just hears a grunt of effort and the sound of something solid striking another person. A male yelp of pain descends into an ironic barking laugh that goes on and on, and in that moment Livesey knows that Long John Silver has won.

* * *

Within the hour she’s been forcefully escorted back to Jim’s office, with Barden, a reluctant sentry, just outside the door. The door has been locked - on  _ Jim’s orders! _ \- and all shot and powder removed from the room. She is to be kept there as prisoner until Captain Hawkins decides her fate. 

She cannot be trusted. Doctor Livesey, of all Jim’s allies, cannot be  _ trusted. _

She’d fought back, of course - even after her scuffle with Silver, she’d tried to stay on deck, stay involved, retain the access and privilege she’d originally been given. But Jim had been resolute, and Barden had nearly had to make good on his earlier threats to break her arms.

Jim had come to see her, but her whole demeanor was altered. She had retreated back into herself, the accusations coming in short, furious bursts. 

There’s something there still, Livesey realises. Even after all this time. There’s something tying Jim to Silver that hasn’t fully worn away, making this reunion all the more complicated. The existence of the warrant (now lying on Jim’s desk, unfurled but now webbed with creases) had hit the girl particularly hard.

_ You were going to make that choice for me too? _

Livesey’s torn between feeling furious at Jim and feeling furious at herself. Yes. Yes, she had been resolved and ready - once, before everything - to take that choice away from Jim without an ounce of regret. Her own form of treachery, no matter the purity of the intentions.

Now she thinks she should have taken that document and tossed it into the warehouse fire.

Silver has been taken somewhere (not the brig, but somewhere else - nobody will tell Livesey where), with orders for a watch to be kept on him at all times. The smug look that threatened to take residence on his face had quickly been quelled by Jim bestowing him a decent whack across the jaw with a cry of;  _ “AND I AM NOT FINISHED WITH YOU!” _

And that had been the last Livesey had heard, as Barden pushed her back inside, bolted in like some captive wench held for ransom. There had been a blazing rage in Jim’s eyes that suggested that the girl might indeed take Livesey’s advice and shove her off ship at the next port, to make her own way home alone from whatever strange land they encounter next.

Livesey presses herself to the door (the handle of which does not give - she’s already tried) to overhear snatches of conversation every so often - members of the crew aghast that their acting captain has taken the man who killed one of their own into her favour. More than once she hears someone appeal to Barden to take over; mutiny is mentioned in all but the dangerous word itself. But Barden steadfastly refuses - these were Captain Seymour’s instructions, says he, and while she still lives, he will respect those orders.

With a sigh, Livesey returns to check on Seymour. These are  _ her  _ orders, keep the captain alive, heal her. The pirate seems a little soothed, but still unresponsive. 

“Don’t you dare die on me.” Livesey mutters to the unconscious woman. “You’re the only card I’ve got left.” If the captain should pass under her watch… she tries not to think about what might happen to her in turn.

A little later, when the corridor outside seems quiet, she attempts to pick the door lock with her scalpel - but panic jolts her sensible when the instrument threatens to snap inside the mechanism and she quickly sets it aside. Who knows what she can afford to sacrifice now, even as she orders herself to stay calm. But the doors are heavy - someone even twice her size would struggle to knock it down.

She sits at Seymour’s bedside and thinks hard. Jim is hurt - understandably so, Livesey had underestimated her immensely. But the girl had never been unreasonable. Maybe Livesey can reason with her now - if she can just  _ get  _ to her - and talk to her and explain… 

What exactly she’ll explain, she’s not sure. 

There’s a sudden and welcome distraction from those thoughts, as the door to the office flies open and Barden rushes in at full pelt. He all but flies to a nearby cabinet and flings it open, revealing an array of unloaded guns which he quickly starts to unload. He looks grave - that’s new, a long way from his boisterous and outgoing manner of before.

He’s left the door open! But when she dares slip towards it, another crew member appears in the frame, blocking her way again.

“What’s happening?” She calls out to the quartermaster, glaring at the new obstacle.

“Ship spotted off the starboard side!” Barden yells to her as he shoulders no fewer than half a dozen rifles. “Flying the red - no quarter. There’s a battle coming, make no mistake. Best stay hidden, Doctor Livesey, best stay below.”

A sea battle. A chill runs down her spine. But - it’s an opportunity. “Let me help.”

“No!” Barden snaps. Then he hesitates, shaking his head. “I’m not to let you out. Orders are for you to stay here and see to Captain Seymour. That’s all.”

She tries to intercept him as he turns for the door; “Please,” She says, final and desperate. “Please let me out.”

Barden grimaces, lingering in the doorway. “I can’t Doctor - I’m sorry. Captain’s orders.”

But there’s doubt, so she jumps on it at once. “They’re not!” She cries out. “Not really! It’s him - Silver, he’s got some power over Jim and he’s scared of Captain Seymour, I don’t know why…”

But Barden is already fleeing the room, shouting regretful apologies back over his shoulder as he slams the door, the final bang and the click of the key seeming to echo into the silence of the room and her own solitude. Abandoned. Worse - trapped again.

Tense with anger, Livesey screams a curse and flings the nearest chair across the floor, wrenching her wrist and achieving little. She stands in the centre of the room, trapped and useless and massaging her aching joint as the danger draws ever closer.

From somewhere outside there’s a thundercrack of cannonfire.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They will butcher her, if they find her. All she has in her defence is her scalpel, a mere letter opener in comparison to their blades.

Nearly four days passed between young Robert Livesey storming from the house, expressing a wish never to see any of his family again, and being returned dead, wrapped like a slab of meat in rough cloth (“For decency,” the publican who’d bought him here had explained, wringing his hands, although the dark crimson blot on the material is anything but decent). 

Her brother’s wish had been granted.

The Livesey daughter is seventeen and sheltered and Death is some strange, far off relation, talked of, but not entertained within these walls, and now it’s come storming in to blow the house apart. 

(She feels as though her mother’s horrified scream will ring in her ears for the rest of her life.)

And yet she herself cannot summon tears, weeping, the correct displays of grief. They will not come. Suffocated under a layer of something thick and heavy and  _ numb. _

“Come away, Miss.” Her maid, pious and afraid of her own shadow, had implored her, hovering at her mistress’ elbow as she leaned over the corpse. “Miss, come  _ away, _ please…”

She’s a little embarrassed at her own morbid fascination. It is not proper. It is not ladylike.

They are strongly and pointedly advised to empty Robert’s pockets before the authorities arrive. Stuffed inside his coat they find dozens of pieces of paper, notes detailing every penny he owed, staggering amounts to be called for. They lie, lined up like the playing cards that had been his downfall, on the dining room table and none of the family are willing to touch them.

“No one must know about this, Diana.” Her mother says in a strained hush, shrinking back against the far wall and clutching at the neck of her dress as if in sympathy with her late son. “No one must know.”

“My dear,” Her father had croaked a reply. “Everyone already knows.” It’s the last thing he says to any of them for almost a month as he retreats to his study.

She sees him sometimes, staring, unseeing into the fire in the grate. There’s a hollowness to him ever afterwards. 

So it’s she, at seventeen, who collects the purse and offers a handful of coin, compensation, to the publican. He refuses, gently - “I’d’ve done more if I could - bought him back to you whole and hale. I wish I could’ve, Miss. I wish I could’ve.”

She goes to bed that night with the facts racing around her head, an unexpected feeling of resolve and something else, something that frightens her.

He had been drunk and angry and inelegant and there was no poetry in his manner of death - but Robert had died fighting and on his feet. She’ll never tell another soul, but for one brief moment, Diana Livesey had envied him.

* * *

Time passes. Captain Seymour lives on. All Livesey can do now is wait, watching carefully for any signs of deterioration. She tries to ignore the sounds outside; yells and cries, gunshots, the clash of blades, the explosions that make the floor tremble and she grab at the nearest surface - more for the feeling of something solid and real than to actually steady her stance. It’s all hands on deck - bar hers, with her responsibility. Even Silver has been enlisted to defend the ship.

She has never been in a sea battle before; the invasion of her previous vessel by what she now knows as Jim’s crew had been practically civilised, bar Lenton nearly getting his head blown off. But it’s like a storm again, although storms are less discriminatory.

They will butcher her, if they find her. All she has in her defence is her scalpel, a mere letter opener in comparison to their blades. She finds herself listening out, sick with dread, for any dying scream that could be Jim’s. She stays pressed in a far corner, worrying the hem of her coat between her nails and staring at the door.

Flint perches in a nook above her and croons;  _ “Dead men tell no tales…” _

“Shut up!” She snaps at the bird, a bird, she’s snapping at  _ a bird. _ Flint obviously takes offence, swooping close enough over her head to catch at her head with those claws and take a few strands of hair with him.

Her scalp burns, but there’s no time to dwell on it as suddenly there’s a battering on wood.

A cold fear grips at her insides as she leaps to her feet. She must barricade the entrance - there’s not much to use, but - she grabs the wooden chair she violently discarded earlier, her fingers have barely made contact with it when the lock gives way and the door swings open.

A brawny, unfamiliar man stands in the doorway, filthy from the battle, and careers into the room - this is none of Jim’s crew. He breathes heavily, teeth clenched and whole bearing battle wild.

Livesey hauls up the chair between them, the wooden legs pointing toward him. It’s all she has now. “Get out.”

The man looks at her makeshift shield and laughs coldly as he charges towards her, blood-stained sword held high for a fatal swipe. 

Livesey leaps backwards, hurling herself back over the desk - then a gunshot pierces the air and the man’s war cry is cut short as blood drips from his mouth. He drops to the floor in front of her, an untidy heap of flesh and she’s still reeling from it when the door slams shut again. She looks up sharply, stomach lurching in panic - it’s Silver.  _ Out of the frying pan and into the fire, _ she thinks. 

His coat is torn, his nose bloody, a strong smell of gunpowder emanates from him and in one hand he clutches a just-fired pistol. There’s a slightly glazed expression on his face, like what he’s done - killed this man,  _ saved her life _ \- was some absent, habitual action, as easy as breathing. A bundle is slung haphazardly over his shoulders.

She stays back, tense and wary; “What do you want?” Such a foolish thing to say, but it’s the first thing that falls out of her mouth. Then she realises it’s not some _ thing _ cast hurriedly across his shoulders, but some _ one _ . 

Someone thin and bloodied and completely, completely motionless. 

All the fight in Livesey drains out of her muscles like the receding tide.

Oh. No.

It dawns on her like her own realisation is trying to fight it back, deny, deny then it won’t be true.

_ No. _

_ No. _

Silver takes shaking steps into the room. “I knew this’d happen.” He says wretchedly, voice hoarse. The battle rages on outside, but the din seems muffled now. “Stupid girl, didn’t know the first thing about a sea fight. Shot down like… like…” He lapses into silence as awkwardly, but very carefully, he lowers the body of Jim Hawkins to the floor.

For a second, Livesey feels this strange sense of disappointment - to come  _ this far _ and fail  _ now… _

To lose Jim  _ now. _ After everything. All this time. All these miles...

She crouches carefully next to Jim. Blood blooms out from her shoulder and even under the smears of battle she’s so  _ pale, _ more so than ever. Jim’s still so  _ young,  _ Livesey realises now. Despite the bravado. Despite everything. Five years is not that long. Not in the greater scheme of things. 

Things change, but not everything.

_ This isn’t fair. _ A childish sentiment, but she feels it anyway. To come so far and be denied now, it feels like some greater power has cheated, in whatever game this is.

Desperate and determined to defy this cruel cheating power, Livesey gently takes Jim’s wrist and wraps her fingers around it, like she’s done a thousand times before with a thousand others. 

_ No. _

At first she thinks there’s nothing, and then she thinks she’s only imagining it to satisfy her. But then - no - no, there is something there! A pulse! It’s a faint, quiet little thing but it’s  _ there _ …

A pulse. A pulse. A defiant little flame of hope catches in Livesey’s stomach with the quiet confidence, the one feeling of solid reassurance that comes from -  _ I can do this. I know how to do this.  _

Her memory races back to Edinburgh, the very afternoon before she shared her worries over Jim with Walker - Claybrook’s foolhardy young apprentice - in a duel every week, but this was the one that had gone wrong and the bullet gone into his shoulder - how she’d saved the young man’s life, while his master lurked in the corner and made comments about how she’d be more useful as a married mother-

But that was there. This is here. 

“I can save her.” At first she doesn’t realise she’s said it out loud until she senses Silver staring at her.   


“What?” A cruel hope starts and quickly dies in his eyes.

She almost wants to smile, of all the ludicrous things. “I can save her. I know what to do.” She swallows back her bitterness, “But you  _ have _ to trust me, and I’ll need you to stand guard so I can work properly.”

Silver scowls. “The warr-”

_ “Damn  _ the warrant.” She says with fervour. They don’t have time to argue about this. “You’re not listening. I can save Jim, but I can’t do it on my own.”

Silver seems to study her face, searching for signs of deception. 

This is it, she realises - this could go one of two ways. Whatever happens now, this will decide her fate.

Brave. She must be brave. She must have guts. “It wasn’t like I didn’t have chances.” She adds, staring him down.

“If I do this,” He replies, his voice stone cold. “If you can save her - then you let us go, you leave us alone...”

Incredulous, she shakes her head. “You are really in no position to negotiate right now.”

“Then I’ll leave  _ you _ alone.” He instantly retorts. “Forever. Forget it all, everything. Never darken your door again. Isn’t that what you want?” When she can’t think what to say to that, he pleads - the nearest thing he will ever be to pleading with her; “Just  _ save her.” _

She can’t recall agreeing, but in the next instant Livesey is running to Seymour’s bedside, grabbing her bag (she finds herself ordering the unconscious pirate to ‘stay there’ for some reason) and returns to see Silver sweep everything off the desk and lie Jim’s body atop it.

“Watch the door.” She orders, taking the edges of Jim’s crimson-stained sleeve and tearing it in two, away from the wound. “Anyone comes in, shoot them down.” Her heart is beating fast, but all is well, this is normal, this is what she  _ knows _ \- what she’s long known. Negotiations and trickery and plots; she’s learned how to do those, but they’ve never sat well on her, but this…

Diana Livesey is a doctor. This is what she’s supposed to do.

Silver takes the discarded chair and lodges it expertly under the door handles, before stationing himself nearby, a pistol in each hand and watching the one way in.

Livesey will have to check if the bullet’s still in there - and maybe remove it. Not a pleasant process for the patient, so thank Heaven Jim’s already unconscious. Then stop the bleeding, and then prevent any infection - her mind suddenly recalls a bottle she’d noted earlier in Radley’s satchel. Yes, yes that will be ideal!

“Come on Jim.” She mutters softly. “Stay with us.”

But this, despite all circumstances, is her normality. She half expects to glance up and see dear Walker hovering at her elbow, ready to offer aid. Only this time, her one assistance is a man who hours earlier tried to kill her.

That’s a problem to solve later, she decides, as the man in question stations himself nearby. It takes a moment for her to realise he’s still talking.

“...I don’t want to be one of ‘em that dies at sea. In the end. I want a spot of my own, away from the rest of this wicked world. Some peace.” He seems to be talking to himself, half mad with it all. “I want to be able to sleep soundly without an eye on the door and my hand on a knife. That’s what I’ve been building, bit by bit. My own kingdom.” His fingers prime on each of the triggers, his sights fixed on the doors beyond. “She was going to be the last piece. That’s how it was going to end.” 

The pistols shake slightly in his grip. Livesey only spares him a moment’s glance, but she can see now. The shutters in his eyes aren’t down anymore. They don’t need to be. There’s nothing left behind them.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the NT Treasure Island Discord for suggesting the Hawk's Nest as a name for Jim's inn. Thanks for all the support guys, sorry for the cliffhangers.

It’s early. Has to be. Despite that dim grey light that creeps into her blurred vision. It’s too quiet to be later, no sounds from downstairs, no movements from the guests, no fishwife-in-training shouts from Sarah, admonishing Tom for whatever bad attitude he’s decided to present today.

Was it a heavy night last night? Jim’s head feels foggy. She can’t remember, but still she somehow made it to bed. Her eyelids weigh heavy as she prises them open properly and looks up at the ceiling, white planks with peeling paint.

She blinks, head swimming. No, no that’s wrong - she would never have left the _Nest_ in that condition, and anyway Sarah’s too houseproud to leave paint peeling that badly. But no, _that’s_ wrong, the ceilings weren’t painted white, not upstairs anyway. And this place moves more than an inn. And then there’s another, different movement in the corner of her eye. Jim shifts her head. It’s the doctor! Their clever doctor, though she looks a sight indeed, far from her usual smart self, burned from the sun and a short, stark line of a new scar marking underneath her jaw.

That’s when it all comes back to her. She’s not at home. But how… her mouth feels dry and tastes of metal as she tries to speak; “Where am I?”

 _“The Midnight Wolf.”_ The doctor’s tone is calm and forthright, that same tone Jim’s long known. Of course! Bold Captain Seymour’s ship. “Last report, we were twenty mils from America. Don’t ask me what day of the week it is, I’ve long lost track. Thursday, perhaps.” She presses the back of her hand to Jim’s brow. “How are you feeling?”

She screws her eyes up in several long blinks, trying to will the blurriness away. “I’m - I’m alright. How long was I...”

“Less than two days, I’d wager.” Livesey says. “Your man Barden has taken over for the time being, which is keeping the crew happy. And I’m feeling cautiously optimistic about Captain Seymour. She’s taken a little broth, but I’m afraid is still stuck in that place between awake and asleep.”

Every muscle in her body aches as Jim tries to move some feeling back into them. “How many did we lose?” There’s a strange weight pressing on her shoulder and she looks down to see a great wad of bandages fastened to her, making her shirt bulge over the joint most strangely.

The doctor stays busy, fixing and tidying, her voice that same, steady level. It’s comforting, in spite of the news. “Seven, I’m afraid. Your friend from the _Cormorant_ lives, though.”

Seven. She’ll have to find out who. She hopes not the carpenter, he’ll be needed. Or - Jim sits bolt upright (and immediately regrets it as pain shoots through her upper body), “Silver!”

With a heavy and deeply disapproving sigh, Livesey nods towards the corner of the room, and Jim turns (carefully, mindful of the mass of dressing on her shoulder) to see - Silver. He’s fast asleep, propped up in a nearby chair, arms knotted tightly across his chest, his face drawn with tiredness.

“He’s barely left your side since he bought you in here.” Livesey says in a tone that implies she doesn’t approve of this one bit. When she sees the expression alter on Jim’s face she adds; “We can talk about this later. I want to see how your wound’s healing first.”

“My wound?”

Livesey nods ruefully as she returns to Jim’s side. “You were shot, Jim. And this time you weren’t so lucky for it to miss. Now keep still.” She carefully loosens the bandage and inspects the injury with an unreadable expression.

Jim looks up at her. “Well?”

“Fine. Absolutely fine.” Livesey replies, “Actually, more than fine - if someone drew an illustration of that wound it’d be used in books as an example of how it should heal. We must watch for infection, however. And it may be necessary for me to actually leave this room.” She adds, pointedly.

Jim remembers, suddenly and all too well. “I’m sorry Doctor, I didn’t-”

“Yes, well.” Livesey cuts in quickly. “Perhaps neither of us have behaved in a fully reasonable way.”

Jim sighs, putting her full weight back onto her sickbed. “I was... I was confused.”

“I can understand that.” Livesey hesitates, before clasping her hands behind her back, “But I swear to you - I had, truly, completely forgotten that warrant was in my possession. My attentions had been taken up elsewhere - my priorities altered.”

Jim stares at her for a moment or two before answering. “I believe you.”

Livesey smiles, shoulders sinking a little in clear relief as she returns to her work.

Trust on both sides will be a long time coming - if it ever comes again. Some roads you can never go back down, no matter how much you want to. But this is as good a start as any.

“I thought perhaps we’d burn it.” Livesey remarks. “I thought you could do the honours.” _Then you’ll have proof_ is heavily implied.

When Livesey looks up again, Jim’s turned her face away. No, not away - _towards._

The expression visible on Jim’s face is an unexpected one, as the young woman looks towards Silver. It’s the expression of someone who is neither notably pleased or displeased, but instead scrutinous, like they have been presented with some strange phenomenon they are not convinced is entirely real. “I thought you’d want him dead.” Jim says, after some thought. “After what happened.”

There’s the tell tale clink of something made of glass fumbling in the doctor’s usually steady hands, and whatever it is is quickly set down to safety. “We’ve come to an agreement.” Livesey replies. “During that battle he saved my life. Then I helped preserve yours, and for that, when we return to England, he swears he won’t bother me again.” She leans heavily on the desk. “After all that has happened, I believe I’m sensible enough to realise that I must learn to be content with that.”

Jim rolls back over to look at Livesey. “Do you believe him?”

“Hm!” Livesey huffs wryly. “I’ll never trust him, that’s certain. He and I will never see eye to eye. But, for some confounded reason, he seems to care for you, in some way or another and I believe that’s something strong enough to swear on, whether I like it or not. Even for a man like him.” She takes a deep breath and the next words come out with quite an effort. “The thing is Jim, is that you were correct; you’re not a child anymore and at liberty to make your own choices in life. You’re not my ward, nor are you my apprentice. I have no claim on you and how you conduct your personal affairs is none of my business-”

“If we have That Talk again,” Jim quickly interjects, “I might actually be sick.”

At that moment Flint the parrot flutters down from a high corner and perches on Jim’s leg, squawking a _pieces of eight!_ in way of greeting.

Livesey grimaces at its arrival. “I swear, that creature is indestructible.”

“I’s immortal.”

They both flinch - Silver is awake and making a deal out of stretching and yawning to cover whatever signs may remain of him eavesdropping. “A witch in Africa put a curse on ‘im. And me.”

“What utter nonsense.” Livesey sniffs, recovering quickly.

Silver ignores her and looks at Jim. “How you feelin’, Cap’n Hawkins?”

Flushing, her shoulders hitching, Jim casts a quick look at Livesey before she answers. “I’m - alright. I think.”

“Good.” He says, rather awkwardly. “That’s...good.”

And then the three of them are stuck there, in this strange stand-off with none of them quite sure what to say next.

“I should-” Livesey begins, as the others both attempt to speak at the same time. The clash forces them all back into silence.

After a moment, Silver scoffs and puts on an air of not being bothered whatsoever. “Well. If all’s well I’m off to make a nuisance of myself.” He gives a short whistle and Flint noisily takes flight, taking up a new perch on Silver’s shoulder.

“Turncoat.” Jim remarks wryly to the bird. But the sarcasm drops as Silver reaches the door. “Will you come back?” She asks quickly. “Later?”

At this point Livesey excuses herself. This sensation of intruding on something personal is too reminiscent of their voyage together five years previous.

She returns to the small cabin housing Seymour and stars to collect the things left there. It’s an excuse, something to do, to keep her occupied - until she turns back to the bed and finds herself nose to nose with a loaded pistol.

“Who in _tarnation,”_ Her patient says, in a low and weak, yet still threatening tone. “Might you be?”

Captain Seymour is finally awake.

* * *

The doctor had quickly learned that day that Captain Grace Seymour made a habit of keeping loaded firearms secreted in at least a dozen places around her quarters.

“Can’t be too careful.” The pirate had grunted, but had begrudgingly lowered her weapon after some hasty explanations. Thankfully Livesey’s name had been mentioned by Jim once upon a time - the mercy it granted Livesey when Seymour heard the name compensated for the ensuing embarrassment she tolerated being referred to as ‘the famous Doctor Livesey’.

Jim soon feels strong enough to take some air, so Livesey escorts her to the deck. There’s a few glad shouts of recognition (for Jim, of course) when they emerge and Livesey has to react quickly to fend off a few otherwise well-intentioned slaps to Jim’s injured shoulder.

Across the way she spies Silver conversing with his old associate - the bosun of _The Cormorant_. The dark man seems good natured enough in conversation, but Livesey notes his arms crossed tight across his chest, a protective barrier between him and Silver. A wise man, she thinks.

Silver momentarily breaks from the exchange to cast a watchful look over to Jim. He spares no glance to Livesey now, and she realises she’s glad of it. Maybe he intends to make good on his promise from now on, to the extent of not even an acknowledgement. They haven’t spoken - not properly, anyway - since that desperate bargain was made, sworn in Jim’s blood. Is he embarrassed, she wonders? Conscious that perhaps he’d said too much? Instead he’d skulked about like a shadow, never straying far from the office, so he could return again and again like some instinctive gull, then sitting a safe distance away and keeping careful watch, waiting for Jim to fade away, perhaps thinking it inevitable as some divine punishment. 

But she hadn’t. Not today.

Mr Barden gives a great whistling exhale of relief when he hears of both his shipmates' recoveries. “Now that’s good news.” He says, almost laughing. “I wouldn’t be captain proper for a king’s ransom.”

“It’s important we avoid causing her any undue distress.” Livesey explains. “Hence why it might be wise to keep the knowledge of Silver’s presence from her.”

With that, the door to the captain’s quarters flies open with a mighty bang that sends it bouncing on its hinges.

“Who let that _devil,”_ Seymour roars, leaning heavily half on a crutch and half on an apologetic-looking Khan, the pirate woman who’d escorted Livesey aboard. “Onto MY SHIP?”

“Perhaps in future,” Livesey muses aloud to nobody in particular, “I shall simply not speak at all.”

At the other end of the deck, Silver freezes with a rictus grimace on his face as Seymour shakes Khan off and stomps war-like towards him, bellowing insults the entire length of the deck, despite her current weakness.

“You _lowlife,_ you _coward,_ you absolute _scumbag,_ you _black-hearted little weasel_ …” She pulls a pistol from her waistband and Livesey has to practically grab Jim by the back of her shirt to stop the girl hurling herself across the deck in defence. But she’s staring too, wondering what will become of _this_ reunion.

Silver stands firm, though his head is tilted away from the offending weapon, jaw tense. “Hello Grace.” He says in an icy tone. “S’been a while.”

Seymour presses the barrel of the gun hard into his jaw, shaking her head, her furious look enough to bore holes into any lesser man. Then her ferocious glare slowly turns into a grin. The weapon drops, she pulls him into a violent one-armed hug and honestly, nobody looks more surprised than Silver.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’ll come back, she thinks. He’s found his cabin girl, he’s not likely to willingly lose her now. 
> 
> He’s not foolish. He never has been.

Seymour releases him with a flourish and declares; “I thought you were dead.”

“Hoped, more like.” Silver grumbles, finally shrugging away, still tense and braced for an attack that may still come.

“Ha!” Seymour barks heartily. “Chance would be a fine thing. You look bloody awful.”

Acutely aware of everyone’s attention on him, Silver scowls. “Thanks.”

“Whereas I?” Despite the crutch, she still gestures grandly to herself, an impressive coat of expensive cloth slung over her shoulders, “I look  _ amazing,  _ even after going right to death’s door.” Her eyes sweep across the ship, their observers. “Haven’t you all got work to do? This can’t be the most interesting thing you’ve seen in your rotten little lives.”

Work resumes, amidst a few stifled laughs, and Seymour squints against the daylight. “Where’s Hawkins?”

Still a little stunned from what has just occurred, Jim straightens up, a little unsteadily, but - “Here captain.”   
  
Seymour joins them, Khan still hurrying after her. “Heard you took a wound. Barden! Let it be shown in the record.”

Barden nods, grinning. “Aye, cap’n!”

And then she’s off again - heaving herself stubbornly from one side of the ship to the other, checking on progress, personally offended that anyone would dare try and attack her beloved ship, and resisting all assistance. Nevertheless, Barden follows in her wake. 

Silver is left behind. The danger passed, Jim approaches him at a calmer pace, and Livesey can tell she’s trying very hard not to look as amused as she feels. Livesey doesn’t hear what Jim asks, but she manages to catch Silver’s response -  _ “A long, strange story, girl. Not one for here.” _

Barely another day passes before the cry of  _ land _ goes up from the nest. The smuggler’s hideaway. A town never to be found on any official map, located only by those who already know where to look for it.

“Coming ashore?” Jim asks, as the two of them make their way down to the main deck.

Rife with danger of course, but the allure of feeling solid ground beneath her feet again is too tempting to resist, so Livesey readily agrees. She hears the noise of the place before she can see it, and they dock into the scrappiest port Livesey has ever seen. It was probably something quite basic once, but over the years the necessity of the outcast population has built on it again and again, with whatever’s to hand. Woods of various sorts cobbled together to make walkways, poorly planned repair jobs patching up the inevitable spots of weakness.

“Watch your step.” Jim advises as they disembark, and that’s Livesey’s first clue that Jim has likely been here before. 

This outlaw town has crept right up to the shoreline, buildings practically looming over the water. Night has fallen, but the streets that weave away in front of them, like Theseus’ labyrinth, are illuminated in shards by the light that spills out from doorways and windows. Elsewhere it’s all long shadows - maybe empty, maybe hosting dangers she can imagine all too well.

Dismissed from their duties, most of the crew scatter, heading in every direction like released game. The shadows do not seem to bother them. The main bulk of the plunder on board will be split tomorrow - it’s too late now for anyone to think mathematically - but an allowance has been granted to all to squander in town.

Livesey had been surprised when a similar pouch of coin had been shoved into her own hands. “But I-”

“You’re ship’s doctor, or near as damn it.” Seymour had explained, marching off before Livesey could object any further.

Safely on land (dry land again! She could sing!) Jim beckons, and Livesey goes to follow, when-

“Not tonight, Hawkins.” Seymour suddenly appears beside them. “Your famous Doctor is coming with me.”

(Livesey’s advised against it, of course, but Seymour point blank refuses to stay on board.)

“I think we need to have a chat.” Seymour adds, more to Livesey than to Jim, and Jim concedes defeat, slipping away with the others. Livesey watches her fall into step with Khan. Khan can’t be any older than five and twenty, and there are worse allies, Livesey thinks, suddenly turning back and scanning the stretch of lane behind them. But it’s too late - if Silver split the ship he’ll have done so before now, eluding all of their notice. 

He’ll come back, she thinks. He’s found his cabin girl, he’s not likely to willingly lose her now. He’s not foolish. He never has been.

“Come on.” Seymour hails, breaking her from her reverie. “Follow me.”

Livesey obeys. Seymour has found a cane to lean upon, but strives to make it look more like a fashionable choice. Any wince of effort is covered well and Livesey soon sees the necessity for it - it seems like every other person they pass knows of the captain, who nods a greeting to every hail and exclamation at her appearance in the town. Seymour is obviously known and respected here. Livesey hopes that reputation alone will be enough to let them traverse this place without bother.

Livesey wavers a step behind, trying to gage whether it’s safe to advise the captain take care. “I’m not famous.” She finally blurts out, breaking the silence between them.

“You’d think different,” Seymour replies with a chuckle, “If you heard the way that girl talks about you.” She breaks off to touch the brim of her hat to another passer by. Then, as if sensing Livesey’s concern, adds; “We’ll stop soon.”

Throwing another quick look back over her shoulder at those threatening shadows, Livesey continues behind the pirate. Seymour soon halts outside a structure that was likely once a house, but has now been repurposed as a tavern. A worn and faded sign has been propped up on a high ledge instead of being hung properly, and through the wear and tear, the image of a mermaid perched on a rock can be made out. Seymour shoulders the door open and the din from inside escalates wildly at being unleashed.

The noise is a hubbub of voices and languages. Someone in the corner is playing a wild tune on a fiddle. The air is hot and feels heavy, swimming with the smells of smoke and drink. Scantily dressed and heavily rouged women wander between groups of patrons.

If Livesey hesitates it must be noticeable, as Seymour looks back and remarks with a laugh; “Come on. I’ll protect you. Best place in town if you don’t want to be overheard, and I suspect you’ve got some questions.”

Seymour strides confidently to an empty table and sits, stowing the stick out of sight, but adjusting the edge of her coat so that the finely crafted handle of her sword is revealed at her hip. She signals to someone, and moments later a scrawny boy with something of a look of Ben Gunn about him slides a mug onto the table in front of each of them.

Seymour pushes Livesey’s closer towards her. “Get that down you.”

Livesey peers nervously into the container. “What is it?” It’s a dark, dark brew that seems to absorb any light that hits it.

“Your medicine.” Seymour declares, knocking it back like it’s water. “Drink up.”

Livesey takes a tentative sip and nearly chokes. It’s a whack in the sinuses and horribly strong. Medicine indeed - it’ll be a miracle if she's able to walk upright back to the ship once it’s in her system. She forces another mouthful down and tries not to wince. In an attempt to distract herself, she looks around. She recognises a few faces. Jim, Khan and a handful of others have commandeered a table over the far side, and there’s a great deal of noise and chatter taking place. Jim has one of the rouged girls perched on her knee. It all seems playful enough, but… “Should I go over-” She starts, feet already on the floor. 

“No.” Seymour replies bluntly, grabbing her firmly by the forearm. “You shouldn’t. She’s an adult. Sit down.” When Livesey reluctantly acquiesces, Seymour continues; “Would you ever consider joining us? We’re always in need of a doctor, and I’ve heard naught but good about you.”

Before she can stop herself, Livesey pulls a face of disgust. “Turn pirate? I think not.” Suddenly she remembers who she’s talking to and winces, ready for rage.

But it never comes - Seymour doesn’t seem at all offended. “From what I’ve heard, you’re halfway there already. Besides, you’ve had a very limited view of pirates. Seen the worst of us. Not all pirates are like Long John Silver. See, my crew is made up of men and women wronged by this world. They want to put it right. Justice, Doctor Livesey, that is what they crave. Not treasure, or mindless violence - although that can keep things interesting...” Seymour looks knowingly at her, “There must be injustices you wish to right.”

One or two. Something must show in her face, as Seymour laughs.

“I thought as much. This is a strange, changing world we live in, Doctor. But we are not immortal. That is the meaning of our flag - that death or justice will catch up to all men.”

It’s a grand speech, but Livesey’s unconvinced. “What about Silver?” She asks, trying to ignore the fact that a man at the next table has just been flung clean across the room for the crime of winning at cards. “Will justice or death catch him first? I still don’t know what he did to cause such a divide between the two of you.”

Seymour smirks. “The offence Long John Silver did me was many years ago. I was angry with him over it - once. But some grievances you’re better off leaving behind and that was one of them. Otherwise they rot you from the core.”

“He was frightened of you.” Actually, this stuff is tolerable if swallowed quickly and not thought about too much.

“Frightened of the truths I can tell, more like. It’s a big old ocean - he likely thought he could go the rest of his days without seeing me again. Besides, killing him now for it wouldn’t make it any better. No,” She adds, quickly, “what’ll catch that man first is the fact that everywhere he goes, he will always be looking back over his shoulder. That’s a curse, make no mistake.”

That mad, desperate statement that he wanted peace and escape. Perhaps it’s caught him already.

But truths - that’s interesting.

“What happened to him, Captain Seymour?” When Seymour looks away, Livesey leans across the table and hisses “I don’t give a damn about honour now, I need to know. When he and I were in Nevis there was a huge warehouse fire one night. We both assisted in the effort against it and I used that to bargain our passage off the island. But he knew exactly what to do and said he’d done it before. I think after recent events I’m at least owed some answers.”

Seymour looks thoughtful, but unsurprised. “I don’t know  _ where _ he learned to do it.” She admits, staring into her drink. “But I think I know  _ why. _ See, I was there the day he burned his father’s house to the ground.”

Livesey blinks as she tries to work out if she’s heard the captain correctly - maybe it’s the noise or the drink that’s blotted her hearing. She stares at Seymour, who looks as calm as someone merely commenting on the weather. “He  _ what?” _

Seymour remains unruffled. “It was justified.”

“He set a  _ house _ on  _ fire,” _ Livesey says, “How was that justified?”

No reply. Instead, Seymour sits for a moment, staring at Livesey like she’s measuring up her worth. Eventually she sighs. “Wait there.” Seymour gets up, leaning heavily on each table she passes as she heads to the bar. The stick is left behind. As collateral? Livesey’s uncertain.

She glances back over at Jim’s table, but they’re gone - moved on to somewhere else perhaps. Should she go after them? Maybe, but - no. She senses she may get some answers tonight.

She turns her attention back to Seymour, who lingers, gossiping with the barkeep. Livesey thinks she might hear the words  _ he’s alive _ in there somewhere, but puts it down to paranoia, as Seymour eventually returns with an unlabeled bottle of something and two more cups.

Livesey eyes the bottle cautiously as the objects are clunked down onto the battered tabletop. “Is this strictly necessary?”

“It will be.” Seymour levers the cork from the neck. “But perhaps not for you. Anyway-” She pours two generous measures and slides one across to Livesey, looking at her quite intently. Livesey meets her eye and for a moment she’s back in London and Long John Silver has just placed a cup of wine before her - one she’d at the time wondered if it was laced with poison. But she knows now; nearly everyone she’s encountered since starting this journey has known at least a dozen more fascinating ways in which to get rid of her, if they had so wished.

She takes the cup, and after Seymour has knocked her own drink against it, drinks it fast. It burns all the way down, but it’s good and reeling from the strength of the liquor she feels emboldened.

More so than Seymour it seems - a cloud seems to have passed over the woman’s face. “This is grave robbery, Doctor.” Her tone is forced light. Whatever she has to say has clearly not been thought of for many years. “You sure you want to go any further?” When Livesey nods, resolute, Seymour sighs again. “Very well. Here it is. Everything I know, and a few speculations thrown in.” She pulls up her chair, leans her elbows heavily on the table, and there, in that illegal parasite of a town, Doctor Livesey learns the history of Long John Silver.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sad tale is not enough to even begin to excuse a lifetime of wickedness, Livesey knows this well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which not much happens and the author tries to get away with the shortest chapter yet.
> 
> The final few chapters of this fic may not go up on time, as I'm still trying to work out how I want them to go. This fic started with a fully made plan, can you believe it?

Seymour takes a breath. Something clouds in her sharp eyes as she thinks back, choosing where to begin; “John Silver comes from a forgotten scrap of a town, an uncaring scab on the English coast, remarkable for naught but the great manor house that once stood there; home to Lord and Lady Atherton. Now he was filthy rich, and she had been a real beauty in her youth - the pride of her season, courted on all sides, countless suitors, and she chose  _ Atherton,  _ stupid girl. But life and her husband were both unkind to her. They’d been married barely three years before she took to her sickbed and spent the most of the rest of her life there.” 

Livesey’s surprised to see something in Seymour’s expression that borders on pity, before the pirate takes another gulp of her drink and continues.

“With his lady unable to perform her ‘wifely duties’, Lord Atherton decided to seek his pleasures elsewhere, the damned entitlement of the wealthy. He soon decided on Emily Silver - the daughter of one of his tenants, and so unused to attention that all it took was a few pretty words to lure her into his bed. Course, she never held a candle to Lady Atherton’s looks, but she was compliant. And lonely.” Seymour sneers. “I believe that poor wretch loved him. Or at least she thought she did, some idea of love she’d conjured up in her own head. This went on for years and she bore him five children in the end, though only two survived. The youngest, a boy named Matthew and her eldest son…” Seymour trails off, giving Livesey a meaningful look.

“John.” Livesey says.

“Named for his father, in secret.” Seymour chuckles darkly. “He  _ hates _ that. Anyway, time went on, Atherton paid Emily every month for her company. And, more importantly, her silence. Then one day, Atherton turned up at their house. He had no heir and I suspect he was starting to panic. Said he’d changed his mind and agreed to take responsibility for little Matthew, take him to the big house and raise him as his own. The boy was only four - I reckon Atherton wished to mould him in his own image. John was fifteen, too old and too set in his ways to ever become obedient to some rich scoundrel.”

Livesey pours herself another measure of the spirit. “And - Emily agreed to this?”

“She thought she loved him - she certainly loved her sons. Who can say? She’d been disowned by her family when she wouldn’t tell them the father of her children. Maybe she thought it’d be best. So Atherton paid a lump sum and took the little boy away, never to see his mother again. After that, the payments stopped. Could be he thought he’d get away with it. Could be he simply didn’t care - he had his grand house and his renowned wife and a boy who looked enough like him that he could pay to explain away anyone who knew any better.”

“Did she not complain?” Livesey asks. “Was there nobody she could bring her case to?”

“Even if there was,” Seymour replies, fixing Livesey with a hard glare. “Lord John Atherton of an ancient family, the name as old as time itself, providing employment for the town, the best thing to come out of that wretched place - would you have believed her?”

Livesey doesn’t trust herself to answer.

Seymour continues; “Poor wretch turned to desperate measures to survive, anything she could do. John went up to the big house many times begging his father for help, for money, for a job, anything. But every time his father turned him away. Even when Emily caught the pox trying to earn a crust, Atherton would not help. Even when John told him she was dying. He had his own son thrown out of the house and threatened with all the might of the law should he dare come back.” The captain falls silent for a moment. The noise and activity around them still rumbles on, unbothered and uncaring and not listening. “You’re wondering how I know all this.”

“A little.” Livesey admits. Should she believe it? She can’t see how lying would benefit Seymour in any way at this point.

“In another life I was Lady Atherton’s maid.” She smirks, as if fully aware how unlikely it seems now, with her pirate garb and reputation, sword at her hip and battle scars on her knuckles. “When John learned who I was, who I worked for, that was it, he wouldn’t let it go. He used to wait out in the yard for me, in all weathers, then demand I tell him the master’s whereabouts - when he would be at home and when I could sneak him in to talk to him. Fool I was, I pitied him. This skinny rat of a lad trying to be a tough man even when he was shaking from the cold.” The smile fades. “I don’t know all the facts. I’ll never know what was said, exactly. But what I do know is the night Emily Silver passed, the great house was set ablaze. Nobody was ever caught, but I would bet my life it was John.”

“For revenge?” Livesey asks.

Seymour shrugs. “It was rash and impulsive, the act of a boy. But I don’t think he meant to harm anyone, not even Atherton - he didn’t have that in him yet, not then. He just wanted to frighten him, take away something Atherton treasured - he valued that house over all things. When I made it out, there was a crowd outside, John among them. I remember him saying ‘you’re back’, all dread like, like we weren’t meant to be - the household had been in Bath for the season, but we came back a day early. That’s when he realised his brother was still inside. Went half mad and ran into the burning house. Nobody could stop him.”

“He has a burn.” Livesey traces the shape with a finger on her own arm. “Like that.”

Seymour’s eyes flash as she brings down her cup with an audible clunk. “I would wager my  _ Wolf _ he earned it that day.” She pours herself another fortifying drink. It’s a tale that hasn't been told in a while, that’s apparent - it has none of Jim’s theatrical flair when she used to tell her story of the treasure island. But it’s clear that even without revisiting, it’s something that the pirate recalls all too vividly.

Livesey looks up and past Seymour’s shoulder where Jim’s party had been sitting, but Seymour’s orders and her own curiosity keep her rooted to her seat. Eventually Livesey asks; “What became of the Athertons?”

“She never made it out.” Seymour replies. “Didn’t even try. I think she wanted to go in the end, and to go by fire was good enough for her. As for him, he went off to London and drank and whored the last of his fortune away. Died a few years later, likely from a combination of the two.”

“And Matthew Silver? Did he survive?”

“I don’t know.” Seymour admits, staring into her cup. “I’ve never seen him again. Everyone thought both boys had perished. As did I, for a long time.”

They both sit in silence for a while as the chaos and merriment of the tavern rackets on around them. A sad tale is not enough to even begin to excuse a lifetime of wickedness, Livesey knows this well. But in terms of explanations… that window has been wiped a little clearer, even if it will never be fully transparent. “When did you find out he’d lived?”

Seymour raises her eyebrows knowingly. “In bloody circumstances, ten or so years later. Can’t say what he got up to in that time, but he’d fallen in with Flint’s lot at least - so can’t have been anything good. I was in Nassau, sailing under Captain Evans. Got talking with some others, mentioned where I hailed from and this chewed up old salt, Bones, his name was, said he had a man on ship from the same place. Does I know him, says he.  _ John Silver. _ I says I do. Then Bones wouldn’t say what happened exactly, but that Silver was likely to lose his leg. They’d taken him to a surgeon on the island they knew of - a damned butcher. Well I jumped up there and then and was away. Needed to see it for myself.” She chuckles darkly. “Never ran so fast in my life.”

Seymour hesitates and when she continues her voice has taken on a hard, distant edge. “They let me in - course they did, what did they care to stop me - and there he was. It was him alright. Out cold and white as death. One leg gone to here.” She motions a line with the side of her hand on her own thigh. “I sat with him for a time - didn’t want him to be on his own when he woke up, when he realised what he’d lost. Then when he waked, he took it badly. Started raging and storming. At me. Said things I won’t repeat, save your ears.” Seymour sighs. “Flint was there too. Came a-wandering in, bade me good evening like we was in the assembly rooms. Bought in a crutch with him and demanded I leave and Silver get up. Said there was things to do. Only time I ever met Flint.” She pauses, something of a shiver going down her back. “It was enough.”

Any temptation to ask what the human Flint was really like is satisfied with that assurance. There’s something unsaid in that  _ ‘enough’ _ that implies a lot more.

“I remember,” Seymour says, more softly, “there were all the old sheets from where they’d cut him up - all piled up in the corner, all red with his blood. Like from a birth bed.” Seymour takes another hefty swig of her drink - perhaps to try and wash the memory away. “Something was born that day, for certain. Something more wicked than the lad I’d once known. Regardless what he’d done before then, that was the day Long John Silver was truly born.” Seymour tips the empty vessel in her hand absently and sighs, short and tired. “Heard enough Doctor Livesey? Know enough now?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re nothing but sequences, Doctor Livesey. There were folk before and there'll be folk after, looking at our ways and thinking them strange.”

“Why her, do you think?”

They’ve left the tavern and are taking the long way back to the ship. Seymour wants to show her some novelty of the town during their return journey, a makeshift shrine where captains can nail their colours, a claim of presence -  _ I was here, among legends. _

“Hawkins? No idea.” Seymour admits. Despite the lateness of the hour, the streets - what passes as a street here, a mess of packed dirt, straw and more haphazard repairs, hemmed in with ramshackle buildings - still hum with activity. Livesey keeps a ready hand on the pocket where her pistol sits, as drunken visitors reel into her path and away again. 

“Perhaps they see something in each other that we can’t.” Seymour pauses, looking thoughtful. “When she talks to him, I fancy I start to see it again. John Silver. Emily’s boy. Not proper like, he’ll never be that man again. But some glimpse, something faint, far away…”

“A ghost?” Livesey suggests. It’s strange - that notion seems a lot less flimsy these days. Her head still feels unsteady from the drink, and this traitorous road dips and twists under her feet every so often.

Seymour cracks a smile. “Aye. A ghost. One I’ve never seen in any of our run-ins since.” Then she’s off again, leaning heavily on her stick. The twists and turns of the avenues and alleys finally bring them to the western edge of the settlement and a tumbledown cliff edge, pocked with an opening to a cave. Seymour heads inside without fear.

It’s a narrow opening - perhaps just wide enough for three men to stand together. Someone has left a cluster of lit candles, all clearly from different sources and a wild mix of shapes and levels, in the centre, casting dancing shadows across the irregular ceiling. 

Nailed to the walls are dozens upon dozens of pirate flags, reproduced in a smaller sizes. There is no order - the colours are put up in a seemingly random order, wherever there’s space enough, the ones nearest to the stone threadbare and worn with age. The overwhelming majority colour is black, but dashes of white, red and even yellow and green can be glimpsed. It is a history in stitches of piracy in these waters and there’s a strange beauty to it, perhaps rooted in the commitment of those to add their identity here.

Livesey recognises some of the flags of true notorious types, even before Seymour starts picking out names.

“Worley, Vane, Black Bart…” The pirate points to a selection of colours, then snickers quietly. “That’s Flint’s.” She drops her hand from his quicker than the others.

There are marks on the stone, just visible through the thicket of fabric. Figures carved into the rock face, then gone over with stains of red and black. “What are those?” Livesey asks, warily pushing some of the flags aside for a clearer view.

“Signs of them that came before us.” Seymour replies, looking over her shoulder. “We’re nothing but sequences, Doctor Livesey. There were folk before and there'll be folk after, looking at our ways and thinking them strange.” She suddenly exclaims in recognition, distracted; “There’s me.” 

The cloth of her colours is cleaner and newer than many of the others. The white still stands stark in the crudely cut shapes. The scales. The hourglass.

“When I got the  _ Wolf, _ first thing I set out to do was come back here and set my colours. I knew when I did that, I’d be free. Fully free.” She tenderly takes the flag between her fingertips, like a handkerchief from an absent sweetheart. “When my lady died in the fire the finger of accusation was too quick to point at me. Nothing could ever be proved, so all Atherton could do was dismiss me without a reference. But it led me here, to this life. I wouldn’t go back to service for all the money in the world.” She releases the cloth and steps back, turning to Livesey. “I’ll ask you one more time. Join us. You stand to prosper beyond your imagination.”

The words of Governor Ponsford have kept residence in her head, no matter how hard she’s tried to forget them;  _ Mr Silver and his ilk will be wiped from this earth to make way for progress.  _ She’s known that all along, but senses it would not be wise to say it aloud. 

What is it that silences her? Fear? And if so, of whom?

Seymour seems to read her thoughts. “Perhaps not.” She says eventually, clearing her throat, clapping a hand to Livesey’s shoulder and resting it there for a moment, like she’s in need of an anchor. In this light Seymour looks older, her scars highlighted, the weakness from her illness clear in her face. “Pity. He said you’d be damn good at it. Come on.” Then she’s off again, heading out of the cave and away from this obscure gallery.

Livesey follows, after taking a moment to look back, to take it all in one last time. Like Nevis, there’s a sense that she will not pass this way again.

Seymour is already halfway down the road when Livesey emerges, and she half-runs to catch up. They walk in silence for a while, until the buildings thin again and masts begin to appear above the rooftops.

“I know you want to protect her.” Seymour says, without prompt - but she’s obviously been thinking it over. “But there are some things you’ve got to let go.”

_ The Midnight Wolf _ soon comes into view and Livesey’s shoulders untense at the mere sight of it. This town is a fascinating creature, but she can’t escape the memories it sparks, that then follow her around. 

She flinches, twice, even as they make their way along the harbour, seeing the faces of the ominous  _ Walrus _ crew in every grizzled rascal they pass. 

They climb back to the deck and she spots Jim, perched on a barrel on the far side, legs idly dangling. Silver is half-sprawled on a stair opposite her, telling some yarn and doing a fine job of pretending not to mind Jim’s reactions. As Livesey reaches the top of the gangplank she hears Jim laugh. It’s a rare and surprising sound, and its presence is reassuring - in fact the sound of their conversation is strangely reassuring. It’s too familiar and too human for shadows and bad memories.

Whatever the two of them are discussing it’s bought to an abrupt halt as the captain approaches. Jim stops with a flinch, reddening like a thief caught in the act. She begins to stammer some excuse, but Seymour raises a dark brow, holding up a placating hand. “Stand down, Hawkins. All’s well.”

Jim nods, a relieved smile flickering across her features, but Silver stays guarded.

Seymour looks at him. “‘Evening, John.”

“We were just - we were talking about -” Jim starts confidently, but falters at the point of an explanation.

Seymour shrugs. “That’s your business, none of mine. Talk is free. Just keep in mind that three quarters of everything that comes out that man’s mouth is pure myth.” She glances aside at Livesey. “Isn’t that right Doctor?”

“I was starting to get that idea, yes.” Livesey agrees in support.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Silver finally says, in carefully pitched mock protest, looking carefully between them, “Difficult women ganging up on me?”

“Yes.” Jim retorts boldly, looking at the captain for approval.

“Absolutely, get used to it.” Seymour adds with a smirk. “Put a toe out of line and we’ll see you keel-hauled.” She’s only partly joking. “Now, much as I’d like to stay and gossip, some of us have work to catch up with. Hawkins, come with me. We need to talk about our return route.”

“Now?” Jim hesitates, her gaze flicking between Livesey and Silver. For a moment all her bravado seems to desert her.

“It’ll be fine Jim,” Livesey says, even if she doesn’t quite believe her own words. “Off you go.”

“Yeah, we can probably get through the next five minutes at least without trying to murder each other.” Silver remarks dryly. Still reclining on the step, his expression is once again unreadable.

Jim is clearly not satisfied with this, but obeys her orders and follows Seymour out of sight.

After the discoveries and comradeship of this evening, Seymour’s absence is strongly felt. Now here, and alone, Livesey’s instincts suggest that she should walk away. But to where? She has no desire to step off ship again and risk being left behind - or worse.

“Nice chat with Grace?” Silver’s bitter jibe cuts through her thoughts and the awkward silence that has taken residence.

Livesey hesitates. “She offered me a job as ship’s doctor.”

“Well!” He sounds almost thrown by this, but a sarcastic smirk quickly settles back onto his face. “Does she know about…” He makes a show of retching.

“Oh shut up.” It’s a retort she cannot stop, but it seems to go by without notice. “I turned her down.”

There’s a loaded pause before he replies; “No surprises there. So it seems this marks the end of your career in piracy.”

_ Piracy! _ “My - my career!” She splutters in defence. The very notion!

Silver ploughs on, ignoring her objections and tilting his head to the skies in a display of consideration. “I’ve watched you fight and plot and bargain your way across the seas, and for what?” He drops a sharp look to her. “Your own satisfaction. To know that you were  _ right.” _

There’s an element of truth there, but out of his mouth it sounds terribly self-centred. She’s tempted to reply that his reasons were along similar lines. “This venture has long been out of my control.”

“You could have gone home any time and you know it.” Silver says, matter-of-factly.

Another element there too. She rubs her fatigued eyes. “Perhaps.” Except going home would have been akin to cowardice, something she’s never had time or patience for. When her vision refocuses, something catches her eye down on the harbour. She flinches in recognition of - something - someone - a man - a faceless enemy- or maybe it’s the darkness and the hour playing tricks on her again. “What’s-”

And Silver sees it too - or sees something, at least, a familiarity. He leans sideways over the rail. His hand closes over his coat pocket. Of course - of course he’s found some new weapon, some armament to replace the ones confiscated from him. She’ll have to notify Seymour.

He looks down, judging the bystander, tense and, as she now recognises, ready to attack. But then he seems to relax as the loiterer belches, laughs drunkenly and staggers on. “He’ll be no bother.” He mutters, the tension leaving his limbs. The grip on his pocket loosens and he sits back onto the step. “Tell the watch anyway.”

Livesey can’t help but wonder what  _ he _ saw.

The noise of the town is fainter from here. Every creak and shuffle beyond their vessel keeps her on edge, contesting with the quiet lap of the waves where the water is interrupted by the land. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. Livesey feels drained suddenly, and realises she’s tired of this. The affliction Seymour noted of Silver forever looking back over his shoulder. Is it catching? She leans heavily on the side of the ship. “How do you get rid of them?”

“What?”

“The ghosts.” In her head, on the dock, in her dreams, despite how often she tries to dismiss them with cool logic.

When he next speaks he does not sound angry, simply as tired as she. “That’s the curse of a long life.” He says. “You collect them as you go.”

She wonders if Matthew Silver is among that collection, but that’s a thought far too dangerous to give voice.

“So if ship’s doctor’s not your game,” Silver shifts the topic. “What’s in store for Doctor Livesey?”

Livesey relaxes - a little. She’s not really had time to consider it - since reuniting with Jim so much has happened to process already, let alone consider the future. Now she dares look ahead that far - the possibility of returning to England.  _ Home, _ wherever that may be. A life that fits and the solid ground. She’s not merely clinging to Silver’s sleeve now, playing his game and praying she won’t be disposed of when the fancy strikes him and left to rot. She has allies. She has Jim on her side, and the captain too, it seems. Even Barden the quartermaster seems to like her, despite being so strongly controlled by his allegiances.

Livesey looks at her hands. “I’ll go back to my work-”

“Pirate hunting?” He glares at her. “S’pose it complicates things now, Jim being a full-fledged pirate and all.”

She can’t argue with that, as much as she wants to. For all Jim’s newfound strength and happiness she is, undeniably, a pirate now. “No. No. I was foolish to think that Jim Hawkins couldn’t take care of herself. But no - my business is in healing, it has always been so. I’m needed there. On  _ land.  _ But what of you?” With the world catching up...

“Oh I have my plans and ways.” Silver says airily. “Always do.”

She knows well by now that he will not elaborate on this. “And Jim?”

He does not look at her. “As you said. She can take care of herself.”

She is unconvinced, but now  _ she  _ wants to shift the topic. Let go. Seymour’s advice comes back to her. “The governor in Nevis said something to me.” She says quickly. “He said that the world was changing - progress, he called it. It’s going to be difficult to ignore that, soon. Even for you.”

Silver tuts knowingly.  _ “That’s _ why you turned down Grace’s offer. And the fact that you’re too bloody noble for it.” It’s not a compliment. He snickers, “Land-lubber nature aside - you could have been half-decent.”

“There are some conditions that cannot be cured.” Something’s nagging in the back of her mind and she senses that now is the time to say it, to push through the residual wariness. “I know you made a deal.” She begins. “To leave me alone and I believe you’ll make good on that. But if you do go back on your word - I won’t make an exception. I’ll have to turn you in.” There’s a cold fear that creeps down her spine at this admission, but she feels compelled to say it. To make it fact. 

There are so many things about the future that are unclear, uncertain. But this must be established. This must be known before going any further. Even as reluctant allies, too much has happened within the last years for her to ever make exceptions. Their journeys have always run parallel. Two lines, never meeting even as they score side by side across the map.

Silver’s looking at her now. A hard stare that could burn holes through someone. “Too bloody noble.” He mutters eventually. “It’ll all add up to the wrong side of the equation in the end, mark my words.” And then his manner alters in an instant - unnervingly fast, from severe to a forced joviality. “In which case - ah - think you can at least give me a head start?” He hoists himself to his feet, not expanding on this curious final point, and stretches without waiting for an answer. Mid-stretch he pauses. “Livesey.”

“Yes?”

He turns to her, half shadowed and suddenly, notably,  _ mortal. _ “‘You ever find out about those ghosts - let me know.”

He whistles a song as he goes. She recognises the tune, even now.

_ Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest... _

It’s the last thing he says to her. A day after they depart, there’s a frantic hammering on the door of the captain’s quarters, with the report that one of the jolly boats is missing, and one man with it.

Jim Hawkins, navigator of  _ The Midnight Wolf, _ says the right sort of things to satisfy the crew, but is calm enough for Livesey to see clearly that this is not in any way a surprise, or for that matter, finished business.

The bird, most curiously, stays behind. It apparently prefers the company of its new mistress, throned upon her shoulder and nipping at her ear when it feels devoid of attention. That same bird flutters impatiently above them as they load into a jolly boat themselves, weeks later, surrounded by the familiar scope of Black Cove.

(A mysterious vessel anchored just off the bay. Decent folk avert their eyes and carry on their business. Last time a ship dropped anchor there, young Miss Hawkins from the inn up yonder disappeared - who knows who’ll be next?)

They bid farewell to Seymour, and the captain dismisses Jim in a manner that suggests it will not be too long before they meet again. But when it comes to Livesey, the goodbye is more considered. “Thank you.” Seymour says, eventually, irate with the simplicity of the phrase that needs to encompass more.  _ Thank you for healing me. Saving my navigator. Being one of us, even for a short time.  _ She folds her hands over Livesey’s, holding it tightly for a moment. 

Thanking the captain in return - for, if anything, taking Jim in - seems un-piratical and somehow insulting to both Seymour and Jim. So she bids the pirate farewell and for once, it feels like enough. They’ll go their separate ways now, and all there will be well.

There’s a healthy compensatory portion of treasure secured in Livesey’s kit bag that quietly rattles with every step as she walks up the beach, the wet sand crunching underfoot and the waves nipping at their heels. It’s a fine day, dry and bright and the wind whipping off the sea. The kind of day that makes one feel exhilarated, even if for no reason at all.

If Jim’s pace quickens a little as they approach the inn, a beacon in the distance, Livesey won’t mention it. 

Up the hill, up the path, a squeak of the door and then - they’re there. 

_ They’ve made it. _

Save for the smell of fresh paint coming from somewhere, the place hasn’t changed one scrap and Livesey feels a little foolish for expecting it too. She’s been gone for a handful of months, but for hundreds of miles - that’s what’s made it feel all the longer.

The familiar figure of Sarah leaps to her feet at the sight of them, the piece of mending falling forgotten from her hand. “Jim!” She squeals in delight, throwing herself across the room, stumbling in her haste. Her yell brings her siblings running. And then they’re all talking over each other - asking about her absence and the new jewel in Jim’s ear and the bird, the pretty bird, where did it come from? And then Tom is at Livesey’s side, all agog. “You did it.” He says, in quiet disbelief. “You found her.”

Yes. Yes she did. Even if in reality it was rather more the other way around, that’s something that can wait until later, when they sit down, perhaps with a drink and something to eat. There will be time, all the time needed, to sit and talk. And rest. Livesey’s looking forward to it.

Little Ana has shot up like a weed in Jim’s time away, and there’s new shadows under Sarah’s eyes, but they all look well and the establishment is in good shape. The place is quiet at this time of day, save for one man sitting at a nearby table who looks at Livesey with a strange degree of horror.

It takes her a moment, but as she locks eyes with him she recognises him as Jones - the man who’d threatened Silver all those weeks ago in London and had one name and one name alone to follow after those that had angered him;

_ Hawkins. _


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stars in her eyes and stars in her heart too. 
> 
> The girl has been besotted with the sea and the sky all her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I have some explaining to do.
> 
> I had all the best intentions to get this chapter up on schedule and then a.) life happened, b.) this chapter became so hideously long I had to split it in two, so for the last time, the chapter count is going up again, and c.)... I really wanted to stick the landing with these last three chapters. I started writing this fic back in MAY, something that kind of blows my mind.
> 
> Today I wrote the final line of this fic. Here's hoping I stick the landing.

They both react in the same instant. Jones leaps to his feet, the bench beneath him clattering to the floor. He’s still slight and lean, but his fortunes appear to have taken a severe downturn since their last altercation. He looks hungry - on the edge of desperation.

At the same time, Livesey whips out an arm, sweeping Tom and Sarah behind her. But before she can move again, Jones lashes out, grabbing Ana by the back of her shirt and hauls her up and over his arm clumsily, squeezing her in the crook of his elbow like a vice. With his other hand he pulls a battered pistol from inside his jacket and haphazardly aims it towards them all.

There’s a terrified shriek from Sarah at the sight and Tom is immediately racked with tension, desperate to do something. Beside her, Jim pulls a blade from inside her coat, bringing it high, ready to throw if necessary, in a practiced motion.

But Doctor Livesey learns from her errors; this time her own pistol is close at hand and within an instant is in her grip, trained, aimed and ready. She can’t get to them - but maybe she can convince him to put Ana down, that she’s not worth the hassle...

“Now,” Jones snarls, teeth bared as he looks at his opponent, weighing the odds. “Let’s not do anything rash. I didn’t come here for you. I didn’t think I’d be seeing your sorry hide ever again.”

“Then what  _ are _ you here for?” Jim demands coldly at Livesey’s side. “Who are you?”

Jones keeps his sights fixed on Livesey. “I’ve come for Hawkins. Where is he?”   


Jim frowns, bewildered. “I don’t know you, sir.” Even through her confusion there’s a dark, threatening tone in her voice that she’s picked up from somewhere in their time apart, one she can put on and take off when the situation demands it.

Livesey knows that right now there’s too much to explain; “The man you’re looking for isn’t here.” She says coldly. They’re too far from their nearest neighbours to shout for help. They could send Tom running, but the risk is too great if Jones should decide to take a shot at the boy...

“Well where is he?” He gives the whimpering Ana a rough, threatening shake. “Tell me, now!”

Livesey’s exhausted. She needs to think about this carefully. But the opportunities are swiftly running out, so she  _ must _ keep him talking. “I  _ don’t know. _ Even if I did, it wouldn’t be my business to tell you.” She pushes on before he can respond; “What did you do? Follow that name here? How much did it cost for our coachman to talk?”

Jones gives a hacking laugh. “Didn’t pay a penny. That old fool was more than happy to gossip. But Hawkins and I have unfinished business, and I’m here to make him pay.”

“Then that’s between you two.” Livesey replies. “Put. The child. Down.”

“Not until I see him for myself!” Jones barks.

It’s no good. Damn Silver - if he’d only stayed, come with them. But Livesey wasn’t to know that this would be here, waiting for them. “Listen to me. This isn’t going to work. He isn’t here. I’ve told you, I don't know where he is, but if you put the girl down we can talk this through and come to some agreement...”

“You lie.” He adjusts his grip on Ana and she squeaks in distress. “You’re covering for him.”

Pushing back a jolt of panic, Livesey primes her pistol. The click seems to resonate in the stretched silence. “Put her down. Now.”

He looks at the weapon in her hand and cackles wildly. “You wouldn’t.” And it echoes from their last meeting.  _ You wouldn’t. _ A dare, but a dare to someone else. Someone who went to sea and never returned, different from the person who came back and there’s a flash of something hot and bitter in the back of her throat.

Jones fumbles, presses the barrel of his pistol to the side of Ana’s head and he looks as if he’s about to say something - demand something else, but - in the next second there’s a shot that leaves all their ears ringing and the parrot screeches in alarm. Jones slumps into a heap on the floor, a bullet hole through his brow. 

Nobody pays him much heed. Everyone’s eyes are all fixed, wide and stunned, on Doctor Livesey, whose arm is still extended like a statue.

“Would.” She says. Her tone is ragged and her outstretched limb and voice both shake. Her arm drops to her side and she gasps for air, as if up until this point she’d been suffocating.

Ana scrambles to her feet from where she’s been unceremoniously dropped and runs to her sister. Sarah, now sobbing, gathers her up in her arms.

_ “Doctor!” _ Jim exclaims finally, half impressed and apparently forgotten about the knife in her grip.

“I’m sorry.” Livesey leans heavily on the nearest wall, head spinning. “I thought…”

“What  _ the devil _ has happened?”

They all freeze as a new voice cuts through the air. Stood on the threshold of the inn is Mrs Trelawney, dressed up in the latest fashion. She’s breathing fast, like she’s run the last stretch here - likely prompted by the sound of the gunshot - and staring at the scene before her.

“Mrs Trelawney-” Livesey starts, “I can explain...” She forces herself from the wall, ready to dash forward, should the lady keel to the ground in shock at the sight of the dead body...

But far from swooning, the woman determinedly crosses the floor and as far as her petticoats permit, crouches, almost curiously, next to the corpse. She grimaces, more at Jones’ untidy appearance than the blood, but looks thoughtful, as if she’s working through something in her mind. “I presume he deserved it?”

“I’m sorry?” Livesey asks, her brain suddenly scrambling to catch up as events take a different route.

“I presume it was done in defence.” Mrs Trelawney straightens up, wrinkling her nose in disdain and brushing some non-existent dust from her skirts. “He threatened you and the little one. You reacted accordingly. Understandably. No one can say different.” She says this with a cool tone, but each word is heavy with emphasis. These, Livesey realises, are not mere suggestions.

She sets the pistol down on the nearest table, heavier than she intended, wincing a little at the thud. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Mrs Trelawney says firmly, “That you are blameless. That is what we will say, should anyone ask.” She turns to Jim and looks her up and down calculatingly. “You shall wrap the body in cloth - you have sacks, I assume? Weigh it down with stones and throw it into the sea at high tide. By the looks of him, I daresay he shall not be missed. Yes?” She inquires, as several sets of eyes are now trained on her in disbelief. She folds her hands neatly in front of her. “Do you really think all ladies have quiet lives, never having to discreetly resolve any unpleasantness? You underestimate me.” She looks at Livesey and raises her eyebrows. “You in particular should know far better.”

Jim seems to snap into action at this point, hailing Tom to follow her. They head into one of the back rooms of the inn for their supplies, as instructed.

Mrs Trelawney gently guides Sarah and Ana, taking the elder by the shoulders, so that they face away from the corpse. She looks back at Livesey. “Who was he?”

“I don’t know,” She admits. Even now he seems like some distant figure of the past. “Not fully. A villain who had some argument, held a grudge with an associate of ours.” She catches Jim’s eye as she and Tom return, and gives her a meaningful glance. “He was given a false name that led him here.”

But Mrs Trelawney is sharp of eye and mind. She looks at Jim. “Your name?”

“I think so.”

“Been here for weeks.” Tom mutters. “Wouldn’t tell anyone his business.” He looks up sullenly at Livesey. “He was waiting for  _ you.” _

“The whys and wherefores are irrelevant now.” Mrs Trelawney turns back to Sarah and Ana. “You two. Run down to the beach and fetch some stones. We’ll need a dozen, or so. This size.” She measures a width with her hands. “Hurry now.”

Sarah wipes her face. “Yes ma’am.” Grabbing Ana’s hand they hurry out the door.

Meanwhile Jim re-utilises her sea-faring knife to split the sacking. She looks a little pale as she works, but Livesey is confident she has likely seen much worse in her time sailing under a black flag.

Mrs Trelawney watches, brow furrowed and lips pursed, almost impressed. “You’re made of very stern stuff, Miss Hawkins. When I had word of the ship in the bay I wondered if it was your doing.”

Jim doesn’t stop, but she does look up with the briefest of smiles.

They work fast and they work in silence. Sarah is soon returned, her apron straining under the collection of rocks cradled in it. “I’ve left her outside.” She says firmly, their questioning glances translating into Ana’s whereabouts. “She doesn’t need to see any more.” She kneels beside her brother and starts to unload the stones, trembling, but determined.

“They may be others he crossed.” Livesey reasons quietly. “Others looking for a Hawkins.”  _ Damn _ Silver! Couldn’t he have picked any other name in the world?

“Then we’ll fight them when they come.” Sarah says fiercely, despite her red-rimmed eyes and shaking voice.

“We can start a rumour.” Mrs Trelawney declares from her lookout spot by the door. She looks at them intently, eyes alight with an idea. “That anyone who crosses a Hawkins comes to a very sticky end. Leave that to me. I have the ear of one of the most notorious gossips in London society, who takes every word I write her as gospel.” 

There’s this feeling - Livesey won’t really stop to consider it until much later - of a strange kind of isolation in this incident. It’s not in an upsetting, or lonely way, as there’s a sense that they’re all in this same isolation together, but a feeling that in this they are cut off from the rest of the world. There are no other witnesses. They are five women and a poor boy, who between them have killed and rid themselves of a strong and dangerous man. If they confessed to it, who would ever believe them?

And it’s better that way.

The next high tide will be shortly after dusk. They lug the wrapped corpse into the cellar and leave it there while they wait. It is then and only then that Mrs Trelawney departs.

Livesey follows her to the door. “I’m afraid I’m a little lost for words. Thank you, I suppose.”

Mrs Trelawney doesn’t smirk - she’s likely been raised not to smirk - but there’s something satisfied and knowing in her expression. “Despite whatever poor opinion you hold of me, Doctor Livesey, rest assured my life has not been uneventful. When I first arrived in Black Cove I found I appreciated the quiet and the slower pace of life here. It appealed to me, most highly, the apparent lack of unusual activity. I should very much like to keep it that way, if I can. You will come to dinner tomorrow night.” This is all delivered in the same quick, certain tone and the last part is less an invitation than it is an order.

“Is this the cause for your attitude towards me when we first met?” Livesey asks. “You thought my return would cause unrest.”

Mrs Trelawney pulls on her glove, unhurried and deliberate. “And was I wrong?” But now a smile - or at least the closest thing this woman gives to a smile - crosses her face. “Good day, Doctor Livesey.”

* * *

The night outside is Mrs Trelawney’s preferred quiet. Livesey and Tom dispose of Jones without trouble (the waves crash against the cliff side, what is one more splash, nigh unnoticed, into the dark water) and return in silence to the Hawk’s Rest.

The inn is around half full of locals, carousing and blissfully unaware of what has taken place here today. 

Jim’s return is still yet to be properly announced - there will be an awful lot of questions and demands for stories that can be dealt with tomorrow. 

Instead, Jim is sitting outside on the rough grass, staring up at the sky. It’s a clear night and the heavens are scattered with stars. 

Stars in her eyes and stars in her heart too. The girl has been besotted with the sea and the sky all her life. She looks at Livesey as she approaches. “It’s done?” 

Livesey had told that part of the story while they waited on the tide - how she’d been forced to step in to break up the disagreement. The first time she and Silver had fought side by side and the very start of their journey.

Livesey nods. “I’m sorry, Jim. I feel as if I led him here.”

Jim looks back to the skies. “He would have come eventually. Especially if he heard that Jo - that  _ Silver _ had been asking around here. He’d have added it all up.”

An equation. With a sigh, Livesey walks over to join her, half-slumping into a sitting position side by side. “I simply hope beyond hope... Ana.” The little girl had been uncharacteristically subdued for the rest of the day. “What...  _ mark _ will this leave on her?” She knots her fingers in the grass, that old familiar anger brewing bitter bile in her stomach. “I’m so...  _ tired, _ by men. The power they have over the lives of women, the marks they leave...”

“She’ll be alright.” Jim says firmly. “She’s like me. People like me, we turn out alright. Not all good,” She pauses. “But - but who is all good in the world? She’s got a strong name, she was born under a strong star.” She tears her eyes away from the sky and looks across. “You never failed me.”

She wishes she could believe it. “Do you mean that?”

The reply is instant. “‘Course. Cleverest fellow in Black Cove. Lived your own life. After Grandma, you were the first person who showed me that I could do anything if I put my mind to it.” Jim laughs quietly. “It’ll be alright.” She insists, and they both think of Mrs Trelawney, dealing with unpleasantness in her own unfussy way.

The waves below crash in, crash out again. They’ll do so until the end of the world.

Livesey reflects on Jim’s previous stammer over Silver’s name. “Did you speak to him?”

The girl’s smile falters. “Yes.”

“I assume…” Tread carefully, Livesey. “You knew he intended to leave.”

“He couldn’t relax with Captain Seymour around.” The reply comes quicker than she anticipated. “He said she’d turn on him one day, said she knew too much. Did she, Doctor?”

Too much and yet, somehow still not enough. “She knew him well. Knew him when he was Tom’s age, at least. She’ll probably tell you, if you ask her. I know you’re going to see her again.” 

Jim flinches, startled but strangely proud. “I’ll stay for a bit.” She says at once. “I can’t just up and go again - not now. I’ll stay until the spring.”

“And after that?”

“I don’t know.” Jim says, in the unconvincing tone of someone who has a fairly clear idea.

“Jim.” Livesey says warningly.

“I know where to find him. When I’m ready.”

“You know you have a choice.” She’s fighting a losing battle here - she has been for a long while. “It doesn’t have to be you.” 

“You’re right. But I want it to be me. That’s important.” Jim bites back a smirk.  _ “You _ didn’t have to come with him.”

Livesey groans and suddenly feels very old and very tired. “I saved his life and he decided to make that my problem. Jim I-”

“It’s different, now.” Jim says firmly. “We’ll be alright.” It’s an assurance, but it’s also a decision. Jim Hawkins has decided that she will  _ make _ it alright, no matter what this strange life decides to throw into her path from now on.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Home stretch. Cannot believe there's only one chapter left to post. Thanks for sticking with this.

It’s late now. The customers have all gone, warbling and guffawing into the dark, the paying guests retired. Livesey and Jim have relocated to the fireside, now little more than a tumble of glowing embers. The parrot is perched on a beam, preening its feathers with industrious vigour.

This is as much Jim’s kingdom as the Admiral was her grandmothers, and the similarities between the two are striking as Jim sits back in her chair, possessing the same, determined set of her jaw as Mrs Hawkins.

Sarah emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands, now reddened with labour, on her apron. “I’m off, Jim. See you in the morning?” A shade of doubt creeps in. Maybe she’s scared that she will wake tomorrow and Jim’s homecoming will all have been some strange and terrifying dream.

Jim gives her an encouraging smile. “See you in the morning.” As Sarah turns to go, Jim adds; “Sarah? Thank you. You’ve done so well.”

Sarah’s face breaks into a weak, but relieved smile and she heads towards the stairs like a great weight has been taken from her shoulders. She edges around the spot where Jones fell - she’s been doing so all night in her comings and goings, as if the very place is cursed - and disappears upstairs.

Livesey doesn’t realise she’s staring at the spot herself until Jim speaks, soft and concerned.

“It’s - it’s hard, the first time you have to kill someone. Even if it is to save yourself.”

The reverie breaks. “I know.”   
  
Jim shakes her head, shifting her forearms onto the tops of her thighs, sat feet apart and steady. “I don’t think it’s - I mean - it’s not like losing one of your patients, it’s when you  _ mean it _ to happen…”

“Jim, I know.” She bunches her fists until her knuckles turn white.  _ Say it. _ “He wasn’t the first.” 

There’s a sudden creak as the chair shifts again and Jim is staring at her now, but it seems distant. A coal scrapes in the grate as it falls into a new slot.

Livesey can see it all still in vivid detail. Even here, now, in this quiet, funny little town. Even though she’s tried  _ so hard _ to block it out, to censor her own history.  _ That was not me. It was another. I am innocent of the things my own memory accuses me of. _

She can remember all too well the heavy, pressing heat of that fire. The burning warehouse, now endless miles away, how the inescapable temperature seemed to bear down like a heavy wave. The ache in her shoulder as she slung an arm under the injured boy, hauling him to his feet.

Nevis. It seems like another lifetime.

(Jim will never look at her in the same way again, of that Livesey is certain.)

They duck and weave back through the collapsing structure. Their senses are finely tuned to every creak and crack above them, so when she has to shove him forward and out of the way of some falling roofing, it’s in the nick of time.

And yet not quick enough. They’re divided now, a great swathe of timber lying between them, splintered with a mighty crack. He’s free, but she’s trapped behind it. It might as well be a great chasm. She looks up from the debris. She must stay calm. “Go!” She calls over to the lad. 

He flounders, fear writ clear across his face and shrinking from his surroundings like a cornered fox. “What about you?” He breaks off, coughing.

There is no time. “I’ll be fine,” She lies, “I’ll find another way out. Now go!”

He nods, frantic and stumbles on with his bad leg.

Livesey spins back around, trying not to gasp and inhale too much smoke. Time’s running out. There’s only so long she should stay in here.

She sees another gap and heads intently towards it. She ducks and her hair catches, singeing when she doesn’t quite move low enough and the strong smell of it reaches her nose. She pats it out in a panic, sudden unexpected panic as she realises she’s on fire,  _ she’s on fire, _ so she’s not properly looking where she’s going when she hits something else - something human, that grunts with the impact. 

Her stomach lurches as she recognises him.

_ Godfrey.  _ The devil himself in this hellish blaze. “You again!” He snarls, face contorted with rage. There’s a bundle under his arm, hurriedly packed. Looting. Everyone was ignoring him, so he must have decided to line his pockets while they were distracted - write off the losses in the fire...

“Is this your doing?” Livesey yells over the noise around them.

He laughs, high and mocking, before he sees her looking at the bundle. “It’s none of your business!” He drops it to the floor, freeing both his hands; “None of this is your business, none of it!” Then he advances and Livesey throws up her own arms in front of her face just in time as he starts to strike wildly at her.

Every other word is accompanied by a blow; “When - are you going - to - stop - getting - in - my -  _ way?!” _

Silver has doomed her, she thinks wildly, sending her in here under the guise of assistance. No sooner has the thought crossed her mind, than Godfrey’s hand catches her hard across the cheek, knocking her to the floor. That hideous ring of his catches on her cheek bone, gouging a cut deep into the skin. She puts out her hand to break her fall and instantly recoils again as it comes into contact with hot ash, skin stinging.

He stands over her, a look of pure loathing on his face. “Here’s what’s going to happen.” He growls, “You annoying, interfering witch - first I’m getting rid of you, next your friend Radley. I ridded this place of his worthless sons and now there’s nobody left standing between him and I. Once he’s dealt with, there’ll be no one to stop me from breaking in that pretty little daughter of his while she’s still fresh. Who’s going to tell me no?” He raises his boot over her face, “I’ll always get what I want, you stupid,  _ stupid _ bitch. I’ll always win.”

The blaze that surrounds them is nothing compared to a sudden acidic burning rage inside her. This man. This awful man and it’s not just him. It’s  _ all _ of them, everywhere. With their comments and cowardice, their treachery and violence. These  _ men.  _ Disappointing her over and over again and they’re all just going to  _ keep going... _

In that instant she forgets Radley’s advice about her anger. Forgets everything. She can’t hear - it’s like her head is being held underwater, like she’s hardly in control of her own hands, as she scrambles to her feet, pulls out Silver’s knife, the bargaining tool he’d called it-

And plunges it into Godfrey’s chest. 

Again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again.

And again.

She can’t stop, even as his blood spills hot over her. Even as his breath rattles and his eyes widen with shock. It’s only when Godfrey’s body finally goes limp in her grip that she resurfaces, icy shock flooding her body. The moment of madness that has been building for years, without her even knowing it, has passed.

She flings his corpse down, scattering ash and sparks, and prays the flames will claim it. The knife falls from her hand, unheeded, as she turns to run. Later she will tell Silver she lost it. She will not tell him where.

Radley, dear Radley, had been right she thinks, as she remembers it all now, safe by the fireside in quiet Black Cove.

Someone had  _ really _ wanted him dead.

_ Guts.  _ That's what  Silver had said. The nearest to praise he would ever veer when it came to her.

She is loath to admit, but he had been right too, in his way. Perhaps Silver had indeed had the measure of her, right from the very beginning. But here, sitting opposite Jim and unknown miles away from him, she knows she’ll likely never be able to ask.

But now, she realises - to her surprise - she doesn’t mind.


	23. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some to whom that concept will appeal. 
> 
> That is the way of cautionary tales.

In the years that follow, Jim Hawkins becomes a cautionary tale.

Mind your business. Stay safe at home. Don’t run off to sea, because you will find nothing but villains and rogues and never be seen again.

Of course there are some to whom that concept will appeal. That is the way of cautionary tales.

And besides, it’s only half-true. Jim Hawkins _is_ seen again - her fleeting visits to check on her inn and her employees are talked of with gleeful reverence by those who have lived in the cove all their lives. The innkeeper's granddaughter, who returns unannounced again and again, in strange garb and full of stranger tales to be told by the fire, with pockets stuffed full of treasure, who has seen the wide world and slain fifty wicked men.

 _(“That_ was not one of mine.” Mrs Trelawney later says of the last part with a derisive sniff. “Common prattle, nothing more.”)

Her legendary status only increases when she disappears from Black Cove entirely for a stretch of seven years. Rumours are rife of betrayal and murder, and why isn’t young Sarah from up at the inn more worried, she must know something we don’t - right up until Hawkins is spotted one bright morning on the cliff road, looking well and very much not murdered. There’s a pack on her shoulder and a small girl in tow, a child with Hawkins’ dark eyes and her grandmother’s name - someone else’s brown hair, admittedly, but a wren-like courage too that is undeniably her mothers, bought back here to the calm waters of the cove to be taught how to swim.

* * *

Livesey (strange, clever Doctor Livesey, who came back from the sea much changed) spends one more month in Black Cove, settling her affairs, before finally returning to Edinburgh. But it’s a city that’s still too full of ghosts, so within a year she has relocated once more to an in-land market town further south, famed for its wool trade and never so much as bothered by the sea. 

That’ll do, she thinks. That’ll be it.

She still has dreams some nights. Dreams of tight tunnels and lawless infernos, trickster seas and her hands soaked crimson as her waistcoat with the blood of her allies. But the days are calm and the air here is clean. She’ll take long walks for her health and like Shakespeare’s exiled duke, every third thought will be of her grave.

At least, that’s what she intends. But life can be strange and unpredictable, and fate cares very little for the carefully thought through plans of mortals.

Three uneventful years pass in that town, three harvests and three unkind winters. 

Mrs Trelawney writes with faithful frequency. Her letters are utterly devoid of sentiment, but full of information, and truth too. That’s important, much more now than it once was. Livesey is busy responding to one such missive when her housekeeper (a timid woman Livesey has hired, paid for in pirate gold, though she does not need to know that part) knocks tentatively at the door to her study.

“Doctor Walker for you, Doctor. And a young lady with him.”

James and Agnes! Her correspondence at once forgotten, Livesey bolts to her feet. It will be so good to see the both of them again. She skirts eagerly past her housekeeper and hurries down the stairs to spy Walker - looking worried, that’s odd, unlike him - and the woman beside him, who for a second she does not recognise...

The young lady with him is not Agnes Walker, Livesey realises, her heart dropping like a stone. 

It is Claribel Radley.

* * *

“Showed up at ours just after the season turned, asking for you. She said she knew you, wouldn’t say how, but she could tell me your appearance and behaviour like scripture, so I was quite convinced. Forgive me if I have acted out of turn Livesey, but I hadn’t the heart to send her away. She claims she has nowhere else to go.”

Livesey’s herded Walker into her office, leaving Claribel under the housekeeper's clucking, concerned supervision. “Her father,” Her late father. Killed in one of the storms that plagues such islands. Killed helping others to safety. Quite gone. “Her father was very kind to me on my last adventure. He offered me a life with him that would have been good and respectable.”

Walker drums his fingers on the arm of his chair, looking ill at ease. “You have told me all your stories, my friend. But never of that voyage, even when I asked you. Why is that?”

It’s a fair question. Perhaps because it’s a tale wherein she doesn’t like her own role in it. She murdered two men and allied herself, repeatedly, with pirates. She cannot, in good conscience, spin that into a fireside yarn to entertain.

But once fed and watered, Claribel is more than willing to tell the story of her own journey. The hurricane that had taken her father had caused destruction across the island. Not knowing who to trust or where to go, Claribel had decided that leaving was her best option. A wealthy merchant, in a hurry to leave the devastated isle, had been convinced to take her with him, as an aid to his pampered, but otherwise ignored, wife. She’d had only a name and a city to follow, and she’d taken the risk simply to reach them.

“I sold whatever I could, so I had a little money” She digs out a small cloth pouch from her pocket; “I kept some trinkets back too, just in case…” She tips out the contents of the bag. There are some foreign-looking coins, a necklace on a fine chain, a skilfully carved piece of ivory - and a solid gold signet ring that Livesey recognises at once. 

Without her bidding, her own fingertips trace the scar on her cheek.

Walker immediately picks up the ring, weighing it in his palm. “That’s quite a find!” He says lightly. “An inheritance, perchance?”

“It was a gift.” Claribel says, defiant. She looks at Livesey. “A gentleman pirate gave it to me when I was young, after my father showed him kindness.”

“A gentleman pirate?” Walker looks at Livesey too. “Well. Good heavens.”

Maybe she’ll tell him one day - when he’s older and seen more and is a little less shockable. But Edinburgh’s upstanding Doctor Walker is still a little too straightlaced for such things.

* * *

Claribel has been living under Livesey’s roof for almost a month when she finally asks one evening; “Where is he now? Mr Silver?”

Jim writes when she is able, but the return address is always somewhere different. If it’s not her inn, it’s marked with an instruction for all letters to be put into the care of some landlord or publican, or on one occasion, a fishmonger. “I’m not entirely sure. He’s still alive, I believe.” Jim occasionally mentions him and his health in her letters, in passing, but with a casual intimacy that suggests some manner of permanence. But three years on, and John Silver has kept his part of their bargain. She’ll leave him to his ghosts, and he to hers.

“And well?” The open book on Claribel’s knee is promptly ignored as she leans over it, hope and curiosity in her eyes. “Is he happy, Doctor?”

Three years have given Livesey some distance, some perspective and some time to reflect. Sometimes she surprises herself, as she catches herself hoping that he’s at least content. “I think,” Livesey replies, after a little consideration; “He got what he wanted, and that was important to him.” 

The question remains of what to _do_ with Claribel. Livesey has always been calmly aware of her own mortality - she will not be here for the girl forever. Her burns and scars remind her of that every day.

There are a few options, of course. Claribel could earn her keep as a maid, or perhaps a ladies companion, a future secured, if she works hard. And yet the idea of sending her into servitude feels like a betrayal to the entire Radley family.

They could go to Bath, do the season (she groans inwardly at the thought), find her a wealthy match. Trelawney is bound to know somebody who can provide reputable names. Claribel is handsome and witty and they can always conceal her lack of training in the domestic arts until later.

In the meantime, the young lady is undeniably useful, eager to run errands, and it’s good to have company, but there’s something distressingly temporary about it, like this too will be cut short, both of them pushed into conclusions they’d never wish for themselves. Life will demand it.

Then one afternoon, as unplanned as anything before it, an answer comes.

* * *

As the man leaves the house, leg sewn together, supported between his wife and son and groaning wretchedly, Claribel asks; “How did you learn how to do that?”

Despite the warnings of unpleasantness, she often lingers nearby when a patient is bought to Livesey; frequently one of the local farmers, almost killed with carelessness. The girl can regularly be seen leaning in the doorway, solemn but intrigued, intently watching the doctor at work.

Livesey scrubs under her nails with a rough brush. Her hands these days never seem quite clean, somehow. “I was taught by a doctor my parents knew. He’d been my brother’s teacher, and when he passed, the gentleman permitted me to study under his tutelage in his place.” She looks up. “That’s how I first met Doctor Walker. It was clear I’d never be admitted to any university, so that was the only way I could see forward.”

Claribel falls unusually quiet and picks at her fingernails. Something about this answer has stemmed the steady flow of questions she usually has in ready supply.

“Are you alright?” Livesey asks, eventually.

“Would you teach me?” Claribel blurts out, in a rush that suggests the question has been stewing in her mind for quite some time. “Please?”

(She could have gone anywhere in the world, and the girl came here.)

 _Teach her?_ It’s an idea that’s not crossed Livesey’s mind. She drops the brush back down and grabs a cloth on which to dry her hands. “You wish to be a doctor?” She asks after some thought.

Claribel reaches an arm across her front, defensively grabbing her opposite elbow. “I think so. In some form or another, anyway. My father,” She hasn’t mentioned him in a while and there’s a hesitance that she pushes through. “My father taught me about medicines, but never anything as practical as you do. I think it’s fascinating.”

“It’s not all action.” Livesey warns. “I had to do a lot of reading before my instructor even allowed me near another living person.”

“But I could help you. Work with you. I _want_ to help.” She laughs nervously. “You know, the day you left us, I was _this_ close to asking to come with you.”

_You have a choice._

_I want it to be me. That’s important._

Livesey cannot keep a ward, or even a daughter. It has never been in her nature to be maternal and it never will, of that she is certain. But a student... an assistant…

An assistant is a concept she gave up on long ago, left under the island with pirate corpses and stolen gold. But an assistant is an anchor. This - and she’s almost frightened of thinking it, in case the idea hears her, jinxes her and flees, a fragile little thing - but this could _work._ This could be good for the both of them.

She folds her arms thoughtfully. “Afraid of blood?”

Claribel answers immediately. “Not one bit.”

Livesey nods slowly. “It’s not the popular choice for young ladies, and that’s putting it lightly. You will meet a lot of people who will try to stop you. Who’ll tell you that you should pick a different path. Many will be unkind. Are you prepared for that?”

Claribel sets her hands obstinately on her hips and in that moment is once again every inch the confident youngster who strolled through Nevis’ harbour with so few fears. “Yes. I don’t care.”

It’s a path that Livesey should by all rights feel uncomfortable about helping Claribel to walk. But it’s one Claribel seems willing to walk herself - not forced down it, but moving first, leading ahead. Charting the way, as if to say; ‘this is our plan. This is our course. _This_ is what we shall do.’

All proper English towns need a decent doctor after all, even an unusual one. The inheritance she leaves Claribel will be a trade to sustain her, for as long as men fall apart they will need to put back together again.

And it’ll be different this time. Diana Livesey is not her mother, or her brother or even her own teachers, and she is not all their mistakes.

“You sure?” This time will be different.

Claribel grins. “Absolutely.”

“Very well. Let’s get to work.”

This time -

This time she’s going to get it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. There it is. From what started as a one-chapter fic, one sequel and 60k words later, here we are. It feels so strange to think that I started writing this in one lockdown and finished it in another. It feels even more strange to think I’ve spent most of 2020 with these characters. But I’ve honestly really enjoyed it. It’s been quite a few years now since I last wrote fanfiction, let alone completed one, and I genuinely think getting back into it has helped me get through this year.
> 
> So much of this fic is indebted to Alexandra Maher, whose (understudy!) portrayal of Doctor Livesey in the NT Live recording influenced a lot of my Livesey’s character. Credit must also be given to Bryony Lavery for adapting Treasure Island for the National Theatre’s stage, and to Polly Findlay for directing the play.
> 
> Enormous thanks and gratitude to the NT Treasure Island Discord crew for their encouragement, help and feedback - a tiny but mighty fandom!
> 
> Finally, thank you to everyone who took the time to read this. I have always tried to write for my own enjoyment, but if other people find my work entertaining, then it means the world to me. Thank you.


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